


Through Low Light and Trees

by fatale_distraction



Series: Making Bad Decisions: The Ellana Saga [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Class Differences, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Other, Possibly mentions of minor romances, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatale_distraction/pseuds/fatale_distraction
Summary: When Cremisius Aclassi offers the services of The Bull's Chargers to the Inquisition, he has no idea he's made his pitch to the Herald herself. Despite their difference in rank, culture, and background, Krem finds himself falling quickly for the Inquisitor, a nearly impossible match. When Ellana returns his feelings, they fight to keep their relationship strong, and to hell with anyone who disapproves.A retelling of DA:I with Krem as a romance option. This is my canon AU for Ellanasha Lavellan in which she falls for Krem first instead of Solas. Chapter count and title are subject to change.Updates every Friday barring catastrophe! :)





	1. Chapter 1

Krem allowed himself a single, violent shudder before straightening his spine and looking alert. The Frostbacks were as cold as an ice dragon’s balls, but he hadn’t gotten where he was today by letting his weaknesses get the better of him. Even after a solitary trek of several miles through knee-deep snow. Snow that found its way into every crack in his armor where it began to melt, leaving the young man feeling a bit like a large, wrinkled prune. Wet, cold, and windy; three of his least favorite things all crammed into one, and of course the Chief sent the man who hailed from the hot deserts and jungles of the north to flounder through the perpetually frozen south. 

Thankfully after nearly two days of travel, Haven was in sight. The little town, if it could be called that, wasn’t marked on any of the maps The Chargers had. Krem had relied on vague directions from locals and sheer dumb luck to find it. From his vantage at the peak of a steep, tree-covered hill, it appeared to be a logging town. Its largest building was a Chantry about half as big as the village itself, which boasted only a handful of tiny thatched homes. There was a tavern that might be large enough to consider an inn, and a stable that did double duty as a smithy. Most surprising of all was the sturdy wooden fence surrounding it, the makeshift battlements and lookout towers, and even a handful of trebuchets. A camp full of sparring soldiers sprawled out in front of the gate, and armored men and women patrolled the perimeters.

The young mercenary picked up his pace, breath misting in the afternoon chill, leaving a deep, shuffling trail through the snow behind him. His thighs would have been on fire if they weren’t frozen solid. As he passed beneath a scrawny fir tree, one of its snow-laden branches snapped and gave way, dropping a huge pack of frozen white powder directly onto his head with a dense splat. Krem went down with a strangled yelp before bursting back to his feet and clawing at the back of his shirt. “Fuck!” he squawked as the snow worked its way down his back, melting, and dripping down his spine with a disturbing slither. 

A trilling laugh caught his attention as he shook snow out of his ears and his hair, which was now wet and plastered to his forehead. He glanced up at the sound and spotted a young Dalish girl astride a shaggy grey beast with sharp, cloven hooves and broad, curving antlers. Riding alongside her on sturdy plough horses were a ginger-haired dwarf, a tall human woman with beautiful, sharp features, and a male elf who was even taller and had a mage’s staff strapped to his back. 

Though most were on the shorter side, Krem had seen tall elves before. He worked with an elven woman who towered over nearly everybody with the exception of their Qunari commander, in fact. The girl riding that formidable grey creature? She most certainly was not one of them. Even from this distance, even in her saddle, Krem could tell she was at best a head shy of being mistaken for a particularly malnourished dwarf. She seemed slim, but fit. Krem could see lean muscles pulling at the well-tailored seams of her breeches, and her posture spoke of a tight, toned core and strong shoulders. An archer, he guessed, though she lacked weapons. 

Her face was pretty enough from this distance, in that strange way elves had. Long, slender ears studded with slim iron rings; large, round eyes that slanted upward and glinted strangely in the low light of the late afternoon. Her fiery red hair was bound and woven into a complex series of braids and twisted into a bun at the crown of her head. Wispy, curling strands had escaped and framed wide cheekbones, dusted with freckles and flushed a charming rosy pink with wind chill. 

He may have been born a poor Soporati, a non-mage peasant in a country that was ruled by mages, but he knew his manners, and he certainly knew his tailoring. The fine, if simple cut of her hunting leathers hinted at a rank of some importance; head scout, perhaps. Either way, Krem straightened his posture and dipped his head a bit, his eyes never leaving her. The girl inclined her head in return with a sweet smile and a giggle. At a word from her dwarven companion, she spurred her mount forward, heading for Haven with a coy glance over her shoulder at him.

“Great,” Krem muttered to himself, brushing more snow out of his hair and smoothing it back into place. “Haven’t even gotten there yet and already I’ve made an arse out of myself in front of a cute girl…” With a self-deprecating groan, the young man resumed his arduous journey through the snow toward Haven.

  
  


The little village was bursting with activity. Soldiers, scouts, and messengers hurried about their work. The hustle and bustle took Krem back to his military days at the Tevinter border. For an upstart army of disillusioned Templars, Circle refugees, and inexperienced volunteers, the Inquisition’s forces were surprisingly organized and efficient. Likely the influence of Knight Commander Rutherford, if Krem had to guess. A good leader could turn even the most inexperienced rabble into a force to be reckoned with, and Krem knew it from experience. The Bull’s Chargers were as slapdash as any other mercenary company, but what set them apart as the best contingent in Orlais and Nevarra was their leader, The Iron Bull.

“Excuse me,” the merc tried to catch the attention of the first person he came across. And the second, when the first didn’t seem to notice him. “I’m looking for an audience with the Herald’s council?” The second and third ignored him as well, and the fourth shoved right past him. “Right, excuse me! You there--fine, bugger off to you too…’Scuse me, do you know where I can find--yes, hello-- right, well, bye then. Excuse me? ‘Scuse…? Fasta vass!” Having little luck getting anyone to acknowledge him, Krem found himself standing before the massive wooden doors of the village’s Chantry. By far the largest building in the town, the Chantry was grander than such a small logging village ought to have had. If the Inquisition’s council was set up anywhere, it would be here. ‘Was it a faux pas to just barge in and demand an audience?’ Krem wondered. At this point, he was nearly frustrated enough to kick the doors in, but the idea of losing such a valuable contract was enough to halt his step and force him to reconsider his options. Just as he was steeling himself to go in, the doors swung open with a low, long creak of old wood. 

“Excuse me,” he blurted instinctively, before he even saw who had opened the doors. The Dalish woman from before looked up at him, blinking large, stunningly violet eyes. ‘Kaffas,’ Krem thought immediately before forcing himself to plunge onward. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

“Snow in their ears, maybe?” She asked, a teasing smile dancing across her lips and twinkling in those round, attentive eyes. 

He chuckled a bit, scratching the stubble at the back of his neck nervously. “Must be.” 

The young woman had changed into fresh, dark leathers and a cream-colored tunic with doeskin breeches and now had an ironbark bow and a quiver embossed with the Inquisition’s heraldry slung across her back. She barely came up to his shoulder, he was amused to find. Yet, in spite of her delicate features and slight figure, he could sense the power and determination in her; the way she stood, her posture, the set of her jaw as she smiled up at him. 

“What’s your name, soldier?” she pressed, tilting her head to one side, her words a gentle command. 

“Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company,” he recited with a professional drawl. “We work mostly out of Orlais and Nevarra. We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge to the Herald. If the Lady Herald would like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, you can have her meet us there and watch us work.” He’d practiced that speech all the way from the Coast.

She giggled and the heat rose in Krem’s cheeks at the sound. “And what should the Herald know about your commander?”

“Iron Bull? He’s one of those Qunari, er…” he gestured above his head with his hands. “Big guys with the horns?” The little scout laughed again. Krem wondered why in Andraste’s name he’d done that, but he was beginning to adore the sound of her laughter already. “He leads from the front, he pays well, and he’s a lot smarter than the last bastard I worked for. Best of all, he’s professional. We accept contracts from whoever makes the first real offer. This is the first time he’s gone out of his way to pick a side.”

She lifted her brows, a teasing smile still fluttering at the edges of her lips. “Should I be flattered?” 

Krem couldn’t hold back a grin. “Trust me, if I’m flattering you, you’ll know it.”

Her freckled cheeks flushed. “And other than flattery, what can your Bull’s Chargers offer the Inquisition?” she asked, tucking a stray, wispy curl behind her ear.

The Lieutenant straightened and resumed his disciplined demeanor. “We’re loyal, we’re tough, and we don’t break contracts. Ask around Val Royeaux. We’ve got references.”

“And do you accept any contract? Regardless of how unsavory it might be?” Her tone had become serious quickly. 

Krem frowned. “We don’t deal in lives, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied without hesitation. “We do have a code of ethics. We don’t deal in slaves, we don’t involve children, and we won’t take any work that preys on the poor or infirm. Most of us have been there one way or another ourselves. We may be mercenaries, but we’re not monsters.”

She gave a satisfied nod and her expression relaxed. “Very commendable. And why exactly did your commander send this information for the Herald?” she asked, eyeing him with curiosity.

“Iron Bull wants to work for the Inquisition,” Krem shrugged. “Thinks you’re doing good work.”

The girl stared him down for a moment with that sweet, unsettlingly intent smile. “Very well, Lieutenant Aclassi,” she said at length. “I shall pass your generous invitation along to the Herald’s council.”

“I appreciate it,” he gave her a genuine smile, the one that had many a tavern girl dropping her smalls for him in the darkness behind a barn. “We’re the best you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast and you and your Herald can see us in action.”

Her own smile widened. “I certainly hope so.”

Krem took a chance and spoke softly, leaning forward just a bit. “Maybe if the Herald views our performance favorably, I could give you a private demonstration of my personal assets.” He arched a dark brow at her and let his lips relax into a casual smile. 

Her eyebrows lifted as well. “See you in action, you mean?” She was smirking.

“If it please you, my lady.” He sketched her a slight bow, his dark eyes boring into hers. That ought to make up for his earlier embarrassment.

“A roll in the snow, perhaps?” 

Or not, he thought, choking on a laugh. Her smile was full of such mirth, it hardly seemed to matter that he’d made such a silly first impression. She held out a small hand, and he shook it, impressed but not entirely surprised by how firm a grip she had. “Ellana. Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Aclassi.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” he insisted softly. He turned her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, lingering a perfectly calculated second too long. “I hope to see you and the Herald at the Coast.”

“Oh,” she laughed. That sound was intoxicating. “I will most certainly be there.”

  
  


Ellana breathed in deeply the mossy, moist smell of the sparse forest, the pine undercut with the rich tang and crisp warmth of the nearby farmlands. That much told her they were getting close to their destination; a modest farm southwest of Redcliffe village, where a skilled horsemaster resided. The young woman could hardly wait to meet him. The malnourished plough horses loaned to them by the residents of Haven were not only wholly unsuited to combat and rough terrain, but also in desperate need of a skilled and caring hand to draw out their potential. Even simple beasts of labor, pulling sleds and dragging logs, deserved professional care. Her own grey hart was in need of an experienced horsemaster as well, as anyone else seemed incapable of getting near Ser Winston without getting nipped or kicked by the testy creature. 

The elf privately thought she might better serve the Inquisition as a stablehand herself, but as long as she bore the mysterious, stinging mark of the Anchor on her hand, the people insisted on styling her as a Herald. The Herald. Of a god she didn’t even believe in.

She stretched her arms over her head with a weary sigh. She hadn’t asked for this. She couldn’t even remember how it had happened. One moment she’d been hopelessly turned around, searching for the Conclave’s location, and the next she’d awoken in chains, with Cassandra yelling at her with tears in her eyes and a distinct burning pain in her left hand. Then, suddenly she was expected to lead troops and make decisions. She had never been a leader and certainly was not a soldier. Ellana wasn’t even a good hunter. She preferred befriending nugs and fennecs to dragging them home to skin and cook up for dinner, or reading by the rivers, or taking a nap in the trees. Her sister was the born leader, the Clan’s First, a mage as capable at hand to hand combat as she was at slinging spells. Ellana could put an arrow into the eye of a ram at twenty yards, sure. But she would far rather lay in the grass and watch it graze. 

At this point, all she wanted was to go home to her clan, wherever they were. After the explosion at the Conclave, they had fled, disappearing without a trace. Likely they were heading back to the Free Marches, but until Leliana’s scouts located them, there was no telling. The clan probably didn’t even know she was alive yet, and if she were honest to herself, Ellana didn’t know for certain that they had survived the chaos, either. With trepidation, the little archeress said a quiet little prayer. ‘If my sister yet lives, Mythal’enaste; please guide her steps.’

 

“Come on, then, don’t look so down!” a cheery voice beside her called. Sera was right. It was hard to be so fretful in the face of such relentlessly optimistic company and on such a nice day. The sun was bright overhead, sending bright rays like angels wings shining down through the patchy green canopy above. There was a pleasant, refreshing breeze to tousle the wispy fly-aways around her face, carrying the warm, comfortable smell of fresh hay with it. The Hinterlands were a welcome relief from the frigid, wet snow in Haven, although the modest little mountainside village did have its pleasantries. The simple but lively tavern, the cozy little hut she’d been given all to herself. She’d never had her own space before. Even the Chantry was nice enough, dark and warmed by countless torches, and a welcome reprieve from the noise and bustle outside. 

A smile spread across her lips unbidden as she thought of the last time she had visited the Chantry, where she had met that handsome young mercenary. She’d nearly bumped straight into him on her way out. His eyes had a keen sort of gentility to them, gleaming like amber in the light of the setting sun, and his voice was warmly accented, boyish but deep and comforting. He stood tall and spoke with confidence, yet there was a casual ease to his demeanor as well. And the way he flirted with her! That funny little laugh when she teased him about the snow. The insinuations he’d made...there was no way he’d known she was the very Herald he sought, otherwise he never would have made such brazen advances. It would be a damn shame when he found out, although the look on his face might very well be worth it.

“Well, that’s a pretty color,” Sera chortled.

Ellana snapped back to reality, wide violet eyes finding Sera peering at her with a mischievous grin. “W-what?”

“That pretty blush on your cheeks,” the other archer informed her, laughing. “There are a thousand women in Val Royeaux right now who’d gladly skin you alive for a rouge like that!”

“That’s...disturbing,” the older woman replied with a shudder. Behind them, she could hear Cassandra chuckle. 

“So...who does have you all flustered, then?” The Seeker pulled her horse up beside them with a curious expression. Their relationship had taken a dramatic turn for the better once it was clear Ellana wasn’t responsible for the Breach in the Veil.

The blonde elf bounced in her saddle, a meddlesome smirk growing on her face. “That Tevinter boy, innit?”

“He’s not a boy,” insisted Ellana, the color in her cheeks deepening. “He’s at least as old as you are, and probably older.”

Her correction went ignored. “A Dalish elfy and a Vint merc, eh? Now there’s a couple for Varric’s stories, right?” At Sera’s comment, Cassandra’s eyes lit up and she sucked on her lips to keep from smiling at the suggestion.

Ellana sighed again. She couldn’t deny that she’d been thinking of him, and her friends wouldn’t believe her if she did. “I thought he was handsome, that’s all.” She thought of the way his eyes twinkled at her as he bent over her hand and pressed a long, painfully soft kiss to her knuckles. “He’s...he’s got kind eyes.”

Sera sputtered and snorted. “Kind eyes, she says! You’re smitten, you are!”

“I’m not!”

“Bet he comes back ‘round for some fun later, right?” The younger elf was insatiable. “Doesn’t even know you’re the Herald yet, does he? Bet he freaks. You think you can bone ‘im before he figures it out?”

“Sera!” scolded Cassandra, her cheeks beginning to show faint traces of pink. 

“What? Bet he does. Bet she could.”

Ellana pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose. “First, there will be no ‘boning’. And second,” she went on with a pointed look when Sera made a disappointed noise. “I’m not a ‘Herald’. I don’t believe in the Maker, or Andraste, and I’m certainly no one special. I’m just...” Both the other women looked like they were about to protest. Behind the trio, Solas, their resident elven apostate, was suspiciously quiet. Ellana looked down and flexed her left hand. “Just a girl with abominably bad luck…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all enjoyed this first chapter! If you'd like to yell and/or scream at me, you can find me on tumblr at fatale-distraction.tumblr.com  
> Please comment/message me with any concerns, constructive criticism, or unintelligible screeching you may have! I love hearing from my readers. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ellana develops a bad habit of falling off of things.

The faint sounds of battle cut through the damp air, filling the woods with the sharp ring of clashing metal and the crash of armored bodies. The Storm Coast was aptly named; a perpetual drizzle kept the ground wet and green with peaty moss, the loose gravel of the beaches coated with a slippery film of algae. Landslides were frequent and devastating, chunks of the granite cliffs sloughing off and leaving long trails of chaos in their wake as they tumbled to the ground.

“Sounds like someone started the party without us,” said Sera with a smirk, plucking at her bowstring to test the tension.

“Not very sportsmanlike,” Cassandra complained, unsheathing her sword, the silverite singing. 

Solas leaned forward on his staff with an amused tilt to his head. “I hate to interrupt what was undoubtedly meant to be a rousing and heroic scene...but it would seem our dear Miss Lavellan has already departed.”

The two women turned just in time to see a flash of red hair disappear through the dense foliage with hardly a sound.

 

Ellana followed the noise through a prickly copse, pushing aside sodden leaves and thorny branches, and nearly walked straight off a shear rise, the granite eroded away and crumbling from the abuse of the moist salt air and the churning ocean that roared upon the stony shore below. Steadying herself, the elven woman peered down over the precarious ridge. About twenty feet below, a skirmish was raging between what appeared to be two different mercenary contingents. To her eye, they were pathetically ill-matched. A large, burly Qunari crushed a man’s skull beneath the dense blade of his axe and immediately swung to bury it into the chest plate of another with a metallic crunch. 

‘That would be the Iron Bull, then,’ Ellana thought. Violet eyes sharp as a hawk’s scanned the battlefield. The beach was gravelly, already difficult enough footing without the addition of slick algae and seaweed caught between the slippery, ever shifting rocks. 

She grinned when she saw him. The Lieutenant she’d met in Haven was defending another man who had lost his footing, brandishing an impressive war hammer with a head like that of the skull of some ancient beast. Ellana watched as he swung it in a powerful horizontal arc and knocked away a good handful of Ventatori hirelings, shattering at least a few ribcages if the strangled shrieks were anything to go by. The Lieutenant then turned and pulled his man back to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder before returning to the crush of battle.

Ellana cheered, a loud whoop with her hands cupped to her mouth. She considered simply leaping down to the beach to join in the fray, instead of taking the long footpath around the hill that Cassandra had found, and was just about to when Sera exploded out of the bushes behind her. The redhead gave a surprised yelp and took an ill-advised step backward as she spun toward her friend. The edge of the cliff crumbled under the heel of her boot, her arms windmilled and she toppled down the steep face of the hill with a sharp shriek. The last thing she saw before her world spun into a blur of dust and rock was Sera’s shocked face.

“Sera!” Cassandra skidded to a halt next to the elf, followed closely by Solas. “What have you done?!”

Sera was staring down the side of the crumbling cliff in horror. She screeched, clutching her cheeks with clawed fingers. “I killed the Herald of bloody friggin Andraste!” The girl sank to her knees with a ridiculous wail.

Solas peered curiously over the edge. “It would appear so,” he teased with a grave voice. Sera gave another horrified scream.

 

There was a loud, wet crunch as Krem swung his hammer into the face of a charging swordsman. He cracked another merc across the side of his head with a bloody squish, dimly aware through the loud rush of battle that someone was watching him. He could feel their eyes boring into him, skin prickling beneath his armor. A quick glance over his shoulder as he helped a comrade to their feet caught him a glimpse of the pretty little scout from Haven. Ellana. She was standing at the edge of a steep hill overlooking the beach. 

A rogue slipped behind him and lunged, trying to take advantage of his momentary distraction, only to catch the heavy pommel of Krem’s warhammer in the throat. A cheer went up from the slope behind him, and he grinned in spite of himself. 

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves an audience, boys!” The Iron Bull bellowed as he thundered by and knocked a man clear across the field with a vicious thrust of his shoulder. “Make it look pretty!”

“Easier said, Chief!” Krem called over the din, voice hoarse with effort. “With a face like yours, we’re at a serious disadvantage!”

Bull only laughed and swept an incoming fighter away as though he were merely swatting at a fly. “Ladies dig scars, Krem Puff,” the Qunari shot back. “Might do you a favor and give you one later for that kind of insubordination.”

“I’m pretty enough without your help, thanks!” he said with a cheerful chirp.

“Is this a fucking game to you assholes?!” a Vint mage shouted in frustration.

“Yes!” the full force of the Chargers hurled back in unison. 

A sudden shriek split the air. Krem spun at the sound, which was followed closely by the stomach-dropping rumble and clatter of earth and gravel slipping. Ellana was tumbling head over heels down the sharp incline, an avalanche of dirt and stone raining in her wake. Her bow and quiver followed her down, snapped and crushed by the fall.

“Krem!”

“On it, Chief!” The young man was already sprinting toward her, leaving his maul behind in favor of speed. He reached the base of the hill with impressive speed for a man weighed down by heavy armor, just before Ellana hit the ground. She plummeted into him with a shrill squeak instead, knocking them both to the ground in a rolling heap. Krem’s arms locked around her, pressing her head into the crook of his shoulder.

“You alright?” he groaned when he finally managed to catch the breath she’d knocked clean out of him. The elven woman squirmed in response, wiggling her extremities. 

“Nothing broken,” she said with a wheeze, pushing herself up on her elbows above Krem’s chest. Kind violet eyes smiled down at him and he felt his heart race, thighs tightening beneath the pressure of her slight body. “What about you?”

“Nice catch, kid!” the Iron Bull shouted before Krem had a chance to answer. He flipped his commander off with another long groan and rolled to his feet, pulling Ellana up with him. The girl stumbled a bit as she stood, but Krem caught her by the shoulders to steady her. 

Ellana opened her mouth to begin to thank him, but a roar behind them announced the fast approach of an enemy mercenary. Krem pushed the unarmed woman behind him and knocked the raised blade away with an iron gauntlet. His mind raced. He wouldn’t be able to turn a second strike with nothing more than his armored hand, and his maul was too far away to reach.

Luckily, Ellana didn’t seem to need a weapon; she had reckless impulse on her side. With the swordsman off balance from Krem’s block, the small woman hurled herself at him without hesitation, striking him hard in the stomach with her shoulder. Krem caught her around the waist and hauled her back before she could fall along with the other mercenary, and by this time her companions had turned the bend in the road that led down from the hill. Cassandra barrelled into the fighter as he struggled to rise, slamming him in the face with her shield. A well-placed arrow pierced his throat and he uttered a gurgling, bloody cry, just as a protective barrier sprung up around the group and Solas skidded to a halt beside Ellana and began checking her over for injuries. Sera then crashed into both of the other elves, wailing at the top of her lungs as she shoved the indignant mage out of her way and pulled Ellana into a strangling, hysterical hug. 

“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, laughing even as she cried. “I can’t believe I nearly killed the friggin Herald! Write it on my gravestone: Here Lies Stupid Tit, She Almost Murdered Andraste’s Chosen Thingy!”

Ellana was laughing as well, hugging her fellow archer back with enthusiasm. “Sera, I’m fine! This gallant gentleman here was good enough to break my fall. Just a few bruises is all.” She turned to smile at her savior and found him gaping at her, mouth hanging open, eyes wide with disbelief. 

“The...The  _ what? _ ” he choked out.

She gave him an apologetic shrug, eyebrows pulled upward in what might have been embarrassment.

Krem felt his face heating and his pulse quicken. This short, slight woman who tumbled off hills and flirted with mercenaries, with her sweet face and pretty eyes and kind smile...this silly little elven girl was the Herald. He’d asked the bloody Herald of Andraste herself if she’d like a ‘private demonstration’ of his ‘assets’ and then all but made tender love to her hand with his mouth. 

By this point, the battle around them had petered out. Krem was saved from facing his embarrassment for a moment when he was called to check on the men by his commander. With a relieved sigh, he fled to see to it that the injured were treated and the fallen foes were truly dead. He shouted orders to his men with a ragged voice and far more confidence than he was currently feeling with that intent violet gaze boring into his back.

“Krem! How’d we do?” The Iron Bull asked, sidling up to his Lieutenant as he conferred with their healer.

The young man stood at a relaxed attention, taking refuge from his embarrassment within the solace of his work. “Five or six wounded, Chief,” he reported with efficient professionalism. “No dead.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the Bull chuckled. “Tell the throat-cutters to finish up, then break out the casks.” 

Krem nodded briskly, and turned to see to his business. Ellana had come up behind him, making a bee-line for his commander. She shot a quick smile at the Lieutenant, and he could have sworn there was the slightest flush to her freckled cheeks as glided by. A loose pebble turned beneath his boot as he stared at her, and he stumbled, thankfully catching himself before he could pitch face first into the foamy surf surging up the stony shoreline.

 

“So you’re the Herald, huh?” huffed the Iron Bull. Compared with his rough, heavily scarred physique, one eye covered by a black eyepatch, the Qunari had a low, pleasing register that rumbled through his chest like a far-off storm. It was strangely comforting and Ellana found she rather liked it. “Glad you could make it. Come on, take a seat; drinks are coming.” He gestured with a large hand to a pale hunk of driftwood nearby. If he was surprised to find the Herald of Andraste was an unusually short Dalish woman with a penchant for falling down cliffs, he didn’t show it.

“The Iron Bull, I presume?” she quipped as she followed him to their makeshift seating.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “The horns usually give it away.” They sat down across from each other to start their business just as Krem was approaching again with the throat-cutter’s progress. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my Lieutenant.”

Ellana gave a polite nod, and spared a teasing smile for the merc. “Yes, he was kind enough to break my fall earlier.” The Bull snorted at that, and Krem couldn’t hold back a smile either.

“Good to see you again,” he laughed, turning to Bull. “Throat-cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already?” His eye narrowed. “Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Iron Bull meant the insult about as much as he meant the apology, and Krem knew it. “None taken. ‘Least a bastard knows who his mother was,” he hurled back with a bratty grin. “Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?” Beside him, Ellana made a surprised noise and he spared a sly smile for her as he turned back to check on his men once again. He’d wanted to wink; he’d fully meant to, until he reminded himself that this woman was the Herald of Andraste, and possibly his new employer. 

“So…” the Bull went on with a deep chuckle, ignoring his subordinate’s barb. “You’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive. But we’re worth it...And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

A red eyebrow arched. “How much is this going to cost me, exactly?” Ellana asked, a curious tilt to her head. 

“It wouldn’t cost you anything, unless you want to buy drinks later,” he said, giving her what she assumed was a wink. It was hard to tell with only one eye. “Your ambassador, what was her name...Josephine. We’d go through her and get the payments set up.” At a skeptical look from the little Dalish girl, he went on, maintaining a gruff, but friendly tone. “The gold will take care of itself. Don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.” 

Ellana’s eyes wandered up the shoreline. Cremisius was walking along a line of bodies and double-checking the work himself while the other men went about unloading several oak casks from a supply wagon. His skin shone like copper in the overcast morning light, shimmering with tiny droplets of sweat and rain. “The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” she said, turning back to the Iron Bull. He didn’t miss the look, but nor did he comment on it. It wouldn’t be the first time Krem had gotten them an assignment just because a client thought he was attractive. The boy had a knack for awkwardly flirting his way into things, for better or worse. 

“They are,” he agreed, resisting a grin. “But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me.” At Ellana’s surprised look, the Qunari plunged onward. “You need a frontline bodyguard. I’m your man, whatever it is -- Demons, Dragons? The bigger the better.”

“And what makes you think I need a bodyguard?” The Herald’s jaw was set at a confident, determined angle, but her smile was teasing.

The Iron Bull could see why Krem had a thing for her. Laughing, he plucked her up by the back of her tunic with his pinky finger. 

“Chief! Don’t--!!” Krem’s exasperated shout from the shore was cut off by a choke of laughter when Ellana swung around, tunic twisting up to expose a soft, pale plane of stomach and a muscular back, and kicked his commander directly in the stomach. The big man dropped her and clutched his ribs with a surprised guffaw. Ellana landed on her bottom in the wet gravel with an indignant squeak.

“Not bad,” Bull wheezed, still laughing. “Still, you need some muscle to look out for you. Can’t have the Herald of friggin’ Andraste falling off mountains all willy nilly.” 

A few paces away, Sera groaned.

The Bull cast her an amused look over his shoulder before pulling the Herald aside for a moment. “There’s one other thing,” he rumbled in a low tone. “Might be useful, might piss you off.”

A red brow arched. “That sounds promising.”

“Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

The girl tilted her head thoughtfully, neck craned to look up at the rugged features of the Qunari. They spoke quietly for a few moments. Standing together, the pair looked quite absurd; the burly, scar-faced man with wide, pointed horns, and the dainty elven woman, less than half his size, with fiery red hair. Bull let his broad shoulders slouch and bent his head closer to her level in consideration for her straining neck. There was some head shaking, some terse looks, and then a smile broke out over Ellana’s face and they struck hands.

“You’re in!” she chirped with a clap of her hands. 

Bull gave a triumphant laugh. “Krem!” He bellowed across the craggy beach. “Tell the men to pack it up and drink on the road! The Chargers just got hired.”

Krem was just returning to announce that the ale was pouring free and he stumbled to an incredulous halt at his commander’s words. “What about the casks, Chief?! We just opened them up,” he protested. “With  _ axes. _ ”

His commander gave a rolling shrug of his massive shoulders as he started toward the wagons. “Find some way to seal them. You’re Tevinter, right?” He snarked. “Try blood magic.”

Ellana’s eyes widened and she turned to stare at Krem in shock.

“I’m not a mage,” he sighed, shooting a glare in Bull’s direction. 

“Who the hell opens a cask with an  _ axe? _ ” she demanded, ignoring the mention of blood magic entirely.

Krem burst out laughing at that. “Remind me to introduce you to Rocky and Skinner sometime,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder before he could halt the familiar gesture. Ellana only smiled, the curling bloodwriting beneath her eyes crinkling as she leaned into the touch. 

  
  


“The Herald of friggin’ Andraste…” muttered Krem. Hours later, after the details had been hammered out between Bull and the Dalish woman in question, he was trudging behind her party along with the rest of the Chargers while the Herald herself walked next to his commander, exchanging easy banter. A scout! He’d thought she was a scout! She hadn’t seemed to mind his casual behavior toward her, but he still haunted by his own foolishness. Propositioning a herald sent by Andraste herself; How was that for a first impression? 

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. While he was lost in his own thoughts, Ellana had separated herself from the others, falling back to where Krem was staring off into space with a slight frown. 

“So, about that private demonstration…” she teased. 

Beside her, Krem jumped, jerked out of his self-deprecating circle of thoughts. He scratched the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “Uh...yeah, sorry about that.”

“I’m not,” she said with a careless shrug. Krem swallowed loudly. “I was having fun.” 

“You…” he stammered. “You were?”

Ellana directed a shy smile up at him. “Weren’t you?”

“I never meant any disrespect, I--I had no idea the Herald would be so…”

“So?” She arched a brow at him. “So….short? Dalish? Ginger?”

“Cute,” Krem interrupted. He clapped his hand over his mouth the instant he’d said it, but Ellana just giggled. He couldn’t help but smile himself when he looked down at her again. Her freckled cheeks were flushed the most lovely shade of rose, her eyelashes were dark and sooty, and delicate lines of blood-writing arched across her forehead and curled beneath her eyes like ivy. The unending rain had plastered wispy red strands of her hair to her pale skin. His fingers itched to brush them away, maybe trace his thumb over the curve of her cheekbone, perhaps even manage a quick kiss before his wits returned and he remembered that she was a holy figure. A Somebody. 

There was no time for any of this, however, as a cry from the front went up and weapons clashed. Ellana had her replacement bow strung and aimed by the time Krem had hauled his warhammer off his shoulder. He felt her arrow sing past his ear as he charged forward to assist. The battle didn’t last long, and there were no injuries on their side, but Ellana frowned in concern as she kneeled over the bodies. The handful of men who ambushed them were too well-armed to be typical bandits. Plus, they wore a matching uniform, one Krem had never seen before and couldn’t pin down. 

“The Blades of Hessarian,” Cassandra announced. “The ones Harding said were responsible for her missing scouts.”

“Those men fought to the death.” Krem stood to the side while Bull paced among the bodies. “I highly doubt your scouts are still alive.”

“Leave this one to us, Herald,” Bull said with a dark rumble. “My boys and I will take care of these assholes while you head back to the forward camp.”

Ellana straightened up, a crinkled piece of paper unfolded in her gloved hand, brow furrowed as she read. “No,” she murmured. “No. Thank you, Bull, but I think I’d rather deal with this personally. Their encampment is only a little further inland from here.” A serpentstone pendant glinted in the palm of her hand, tied with a leather cord, pilfered from the body at her feet. She smiled up at her new bodyguard, and there was a wild flicker of excitement in her wide eyes that did  _ things  _ to the contents of Krem’s breeches. “I have an idea.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you'd like to yell and/or scream at me, you can find me on tumblr at fatale-distraction.tumblr.com  
> Please comment/message me with any concerns, constructive criticism, or unintelligible screeching you may have! I love hearing from my readers. <3 TLLT Will be updating every Friday, barring catastrophe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duality of Ellana: beating up big scary guys, and then falling off of stuff again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up way longer than I meant it to.

The Herald had concocted a brilliant plan based on information gleaned from letters and notes found on the bodies of Hessarian bandits.

This brilliant plan was to walk straight into their stronghold through the front door.

“This is a terrible plan, boss,” The Iron Bull said with a resigned sigh as the elven woman slipped the serpentstone pendant over her head. They could see the spiked wooden gate of the Hessarian camp through the trees ahead. The rain had come to a momentary halt as the afternoon warmed, although a bitterly cold wind still blew, whistling through damp grass and rustling leaves.

Ellana shrugged. “If you’re scared, you can always hang back with the others.”

Solas gave the Qunari a benign smile, twirling his staff slowly between slim fingers, and the larger man grumbled. “Nobody said anything about ‘scared’, but it’s my job to keep your head on your shoulders now, and the first thing you want to do is waltz right into a camp of murderous bandits. Am I the only one who thinks this is going to end badly?” He spread his hands and glanced around at their companions. Krem gave a little shake of his head and a helpless shrug. Cassandra was busy whetting her blade, and Sera was catching a quick nap on a branch above them, her feet propped up against the trunk of the mighty pine. The rest of the Chargers had been ordered ahead to provide refugee relief in the Hinterlands on their way back to Inquisition headquarters.

“It appears you are out numbered, my friend,” the elven mage said with an apologetic smile. “Our little Herald is quite obstinate once she sets her mind to something.”

“Stop calling me little,” the red-head in question grumped. Solas slowly turned his head and stared pointedly down at her. Ellana crossed her arms and scowled. “Oh...shut up.”

 

Krem watched her easy banter with the apostate with a twinge of jealousy he resented. He had no right to be jealous. He had no claim on the Herald just because they’d flirted once or twice...or several times. This absurdly tall elf had obviously known her longer, even if only by a month or so, although Krem had originally thought they might have even been from the same clan, they were so close. The way she smiled shyly at him, the way his eyes and the ever-so faint lines at the corners of his mouth softened when they shared a glance that always seemed to communicate some silent dialogue between them.

But then Krem would catch her eye, and she’d smile at him, too. She’d giggle at the snide jokes he and the Bull exchanged. When she fell into step with him to talk or share a story, her hand would curl under his elbow as though he were some proper gentleman rather than a commonplace mercenary that sorely needed a good long soak in hot water. She’d tease him about the snow, and he’d jab her right back about how she fell off a cliff and crushed him, and she’d shoot one off about how his head must be a magnet for falling objects. Krem would occasionally catch Solas watching them with a serene, casual sort of interest; not the jealous scowl Krem knew must have shown on his own face when the two elves would converse.

 

* * *

 

 

The Herald led the way up the path to the Hessarian encampment, flanked by Iron Bull on one side and Cassandra on the other. Krem brought up their rear, with Solas in between. Sera remained outside the walls, perched in the branches of a tall tree that gave her a clear view of the camp, an arrow trained just ahead of the party, in case things went south from the start. Bull grumbled the entire way but Ellana seemed to possess astoundingly selective hearing, or else she was very good at ignoring people.

As they approached the high gate, the two guards stationed out front tensed and readied their swords. Within Ellana’s party, fingers twitched toward weapons, but were stilled by a gentle motion from their leader. Dim light caught on the pendant she wore about her neck, glinting dull yellow, and just as she had predicted, the bandits stood down, staring with guarded surprise.

“The little one there...she has the Crest of Mercy,” one of them whispered to the other as they passed through the gates unmolested. Solas glanced innocently away as Ellana whirled to glare at him.

“‘S her own funeral. Should have given it to the big’un there with the horns…”

Still, the petite elf walked with confidence through the unimpressive camp. A struggling vegetable garden was fenced in beside a ramshackle lean-to. There were only two other buildings, in sore need of repairs, and a three-stall stable empty of horses. At the back was what appeared to be a shrine constructed of twigs and bits of splintered wood, held together with twine and a prayer, set against a pile of stones painted with enamel. Standing before the shrine, legs set wide, shoulders thrown back, was a powerfully built man with cruel, reckless eyes and tawn hair that tangled into his beard in one bushy, greasy mess.

“So,” the man said in a cruel, mocking voice. “You would challenge the Blades of Hessarian, little rabbit?”

Krem bristled at that, but behind him he heard Solas chuckle. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was dark and dangerous and sent a shiver down his spine.

Ellana only smiled sweetly. “Your men killed agents of the Inquisition,” she said with a shake of her head that was nearly, but not quite, regretful. “But I can see that under your leadership, they wouldn’t have had a choice. Such squalor for so few mouths to feed…”

“They’ll be feasting on rabbit before too long, lass,” growled the Hessarian leader.

Ellana’s face pulled into a disgusted moue. “That’s just gross.”

At that moment, the bandit unsheathed his sword and lunged forward in one surprisingly capable, fluid motion. The Dalish girl was already gone, Cassandra’s sword clashing with his instead. Krem didn’t have a chance to see where she’d gone or how she’d got there before an arrow with violet fletching pierced through the man’s throat, and another straight through his eye. A pair of armored mabari had been released that were quickly dealt with by Solas, Krem, and Bull working in tandem while Cassandra plunged her sword hilt deep beneath the bandit’s sternum to finish him off. Within moments the scrap was decisively over.

Krem turned and found Ellana perched on the low roof of the stable, and arrow nocked and drawn. She relaxed as the man’s body fell to the muddy ground and stowed her weapons.

“I did a flip to dodge his sword and this is where I ended up,” she explained with a shrug. Crouched near the edge of the roof, the Herald seemed to be waiting for something. Krem laughed and held his arms out for her to jump back down.

“Just don’t crush me this time,” he requested as she dropped down. Krem caught her easily, being better prepared this time around.

Ellana slipped from his arms slowly, fingers locked around his neck, Krem’s hands skimming up her back as she went. A grateful smile shined up at him before she turned to the remaining Hessarian troops, leaving Krem to blush in peace. To the surprise of the two Chargers, the men and women of the Hessarian Blades kneeled before her and pledged their service to the Herald of Andraste. She pushed wispy red flyaways back from her forehead with an uncomfortable shuffle.

“That kid just turned a camp full of enemies into allies,” the Bull said with an impressed whistle. “Looks like we teamed up with the right side. She could be pretty dangerous if she had a mind to be.”

“Yeah,” agreed Krem softly. “But she doesn’t, though…”

“Shame. She’d make a pretty cute Empress of Doom.”

Krem snorted, but couldn’t precisely disagree, absently biting his bottom lip as he watched her start to organize her new recruits, protesting her divinity all the while. She was certainly more capable than she appeared, more skilled in battle and leadership than she professed to be. Krem wondered at that, giving her an encouraging smile when their eyes met in an uncertain glance over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 

The trip southward toward the Fallow Mire was a long, but blessedly uneventful one, leaving plenty of time for Cremisius to entertain the Herald’s insatiable thirst for stories. Trudging through the mud and rain, and later through mud and snow, was much more pleasant with a pretty girl beside him, pestering him for tales like a child. He told her about a job they’d taken in a haunted forest in the Dales that had turned out to be populated by Sylvans, and she’d laughed and gasped in all the right places, and teased him mercilessly about his fear of squirrels.

“You can laugh all you want, your worship,” he’d said with a cheeky grin. “Sure, they look all cute and small and fuzzy when they’re skittering around up in the trees. But get on their bad side and those little assholes are downright dangerous. I’ve still got a scar on my--well. Nevermind about that, but it hurt like hell.”

Ellana’s laugh filled the frosty air, a puff of mist issuing from lips red and chapped from the cold. “Cute and small and dangerous. Sounds a bit like me, don’t you think?” A mischievous smile spread those pretty lips. “So then, are you afraid of me?”

“Oh, yes.” He nodded seriously. “Petrified, your worship. You terrify me.”

It wasn’t a lie. Falling for Andraste’s herald was a dangerous business, and oh, how he had fallen for her. It could never happen, and even if it did, it would never work out. She was divinity, or at least lauded as such, however much she denied it. She was important. She was somebody. Krem was not. How could a common mercenary without a silver to his name, always on the move, always fighting, provide for a woman like her?

“She’s Dalish, you idiot,” Bull groused when Krem shared his concerns. “You think she isn’t used to being on the move, fighting for her way of life? You think she’s got a pocket full of silvers, or a family cottage in the countryside? When this is all over, and it will be, Krem...she’ll go back to being a common elven girl.”

“Who knows how long that could take?” the younger man complained bitterly. “I am not a patient man, Chief. Besides, she’ll go back to her clan, and then...what? I doubt they’ll be happy to welcome a ‘Vint into their camp. I might snatch them all up and sell them at the market.” He kicked at a loose stone along the path.

“Bah, she’ll vouch for you.” Bull said, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’d like to see anyone try to keep her away from her Krem in shining armor.”

Krem groaned aloud at the pun. “That’s not even a good one, Chief!” he complained.

 

* * *

 

The Fallow Mire was yet another region of Thedas that was quite aptly named. Ellana would have preferred the light drizzle and occasional sunshine of the Storm Coast any day of the week over the perpetual darkness and dreary downpour that plagued the southern marshes. Her ears drooped, her clothes were plastered to her body beneath her leathers, and her boots squelched with every step, full of water and mud and things that didn’t bear thinking about. She was fairly certain there was a worm somewhere between her toes. She hoped it was only a worm.

Krem heaved a dreamy sigh that was entirely at odds with his depressing surroundings. He knew elven ears were expressive, but he’d never seen any as expressive as Ellana’s. In his humble opinion, it was adorable as hell. They pricked up when she was excited or happy, went crooked when she was confused or irritated, and relaxed when she was comfortable. Right now, the pointed tips nearly brushed her shoulders while she grumbled and whined about the cold and wet. Krem ached to wrap his arms around her and kiss her ears until they were both nice and warm...he shook his head, sending droplets of water spraying from his sodden hair. These were not appropriate thoughts to be having in the middle of a plague-infested swamp with undead lurking in the black waters, waiting to drag careless travelers to their deaths.

Their group stayed toward the middle of the path, going single-file to avoid disturbing the waters. Cassandra took the lead, followed by Solas, with Ellana in the middle. Krem and Iron Bull brought up the back, leaving Krem with quite a nice view of the Herald and, among other things, her emotive ears, the tips pink from the cold. He reeled his thoughts back in before they had a chance to run away with him again. The Avvar, big, burly mountain-dwelling warriors, could be lurking behind any of the dilapidated buildings or the eerie, moss-covered monoliths of pitted and twisted stone, to say nothing of the creaking, rotting horrors of the undead.

“There’s a fortress ahead,” Cassandra called from the front. The dark-haired woman jogged ahead, low to the ground, to get a better look. A shocked cry from the Seeker had the rest of the party bolting forward, only to discover that the castle was besieged by the undead. Countless hordes of the shambling rotters fought against a handful of outmatched Avvar in front of the open gates, the air full of their groaning and hissing and the screams of dying and injured men. Ellana shuddered and took a step backward, bumping against Krem’s chest. Gentle hands on her shoulders bolstered her somewhat. She glanced up at him, took a deep breath, and set her jaw at a determined angle.

“There’s too many to take on ourselves, and the noise will only draw the attention of others,” declared the Herald with a stiff upper lip. “We’ll charge through and close the main gates on them.”

Her companions nodded their agreement and braced themselves for the charge. At a signal from their leader, they ran forward as a group, weapons drawn more to sweep their enemies aside than to injure. Bull took the front by nature of his physique, keeping the two elves safely behind him, while Cassandra and Krem lagged behind to keep away any of the creatures stupid enough to try to follow. As soon as they were under the portcullis, Ellana separated from the group and bolted up the courtyard stairs in search of the crank to lower the gate. The Seeker followed by her side, sword drawn against the few remaining Avvar on the battlements while Solas provided cover fire in a very literal sense. The pair of Chargers remained below, fending off Avvar and Undead alike with broad, devastating swings of their weapons until the portcullis clattered down with a rumble and the jingle of chains. At the other end of the courtyard, another gate opened, leading further into the fortress. Krem and Bull turned away from the last of their enemies to see the Herald leap down a flight of stairs and take off running through the dark overpass with her other companions close behind.

“Well,” the Bull said with a rolling shrug of his massive shoulders. “There she goes.”

Krem sighed wiping the rain from his face with a swipe of his hand. “I guess we should go after her…” he said, with the distinct feeling that he would be doing quite a lot of chasing after the little elven woman.

  


The pair skidded into the crumbled, broken remains of a throne room to find a fierce battle already beginning. A truly enormous man with pale skin and a gruesome-looking waraxe, clothed in heavy furs that only served to enhance his already considerable bulk was bearing down on Ellana with a fearsome war cry. Cassandra threw the girl out of the way and caught the axe on her sword. She turned the attack away with, though the effort drove her to her knees with a pained grunt. Blinding electricity danced across the rain-drenched stone floors in a long line between the Seeker and the Avvar, and The Iron Bull took the opportunity to hurl himself across the battlefield and knock the other man back.

Unfortunately, the man was nearly of a size with Bull, and both men were rather evenly matched in terms of raw power. But the Bull was more clever. Krem smirked as his commander caught the haft of his opponent’s weapon with his own. While the pair grappled, Krem cut across the path of another Avvar, a much smaller one, though she was just as brawny, and caught her under the ribs with his short sword. After being caught unarmed at the Storm Coast, he’d taken to wearing a second weapon and was becoming quite fond of the flexibility it offered him.

In the meantime, Ellana had managed to shimmy up one of the few columns left standing in the massive hall and was firing off a flurry of arrows from a narrow ledge while Cassandra kept the few other Avvar brawlers at bay, and Solas saw to it that all the lovely furs they wore became quite singed. One man fell and died in a shrieking whirlwind of flame just as Bull lost his grapple to a cheap shot at his ankle brace from a crafty rogue. He spun and broke the man’s skull with a ferocious swing of his axe.

This gave the largest Avvar the opening he needed. He lunged across the field of battle, sweeping Cassandra and Solas away as though they were mere ragdolls, and brought the crumbling column down with one mighty blow from his fist. Ellana scrambled to leap away, but the man caught her midair and slammed her into the ground with enough force to shatter the weather-worn tile beneath her. Gasping for breath, she rolled away from a devastating blow of his axe, nocking an arrow as she did. The Avvar took another swing that knocked her weapon across the room, clattering against the stone floor at Krem’s feet. He looked down and time slowed. He spotted the bow on the ground beneath him. His eyes widened in horror and lifted to see the Avvar bearing down on the Herald with a nasty, broken-toothed grin. Ellana was stumbling backward away from him, her eyes shining with panicked tears. Solas and Cassandra were struggling to their feet, the former already weaving a spell, but one that was far too late.

The Avvar fell forward onto Ellana, axe raised. Krem vaguely recognized his own scream joining that of the other three as he bolted toward them. The Avvar crashed to the ground and ceased moving but for a few twitches and jerks. Panting and praying to the Maker, Krem heaved the enormous, inert body off of the Herald with a grunt.

Blood covered her face and dripped down her arms in sticky rivulets. Her hands, red and slippery still clung to the hilt of a jagged dagger stuck straight up through the neck of the Avvar, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Krem dropped to his knees beside her, grasping her trembling shoulders, staring at her in open awe. Almost single-handedly, the tiny Dalish archer had taken out the Avvar leader. Cautious violet eyes opened slowly, and the relief that spread over her face at the sight of him struck straight through his heart. She peeled her hands away from the knife, and seemed about to fling her arms around him, but catching sight of the gore smeared down her arms, thought better of it.

“Ew,” she said.

Krem laughed weakly and helped her up, hugging her in spite of the mess. “Let’s get you outside. Couple minutes in the rain ought to clear you right up.”

The Herald did not look enthusiastic, but followed him out of the crumbling fortress anyway while the others looked on in dumbstruck amazement.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t easy to get the damp wood to catch the flames of their torches. The Chargers had been instructed to search the rickety wooden homes in the Mire for any survivors of the plague, and burn anything that may have been contaminated; bodies and houses alike. Dalish was some help, at least, creating powerful, hungry flames that engulfed whatever they touched. With her bow. Because she swore up and down she wasn’t a mage, which Krem didn’t believe for a second, but then it wasn’t his business.

There were all too few survivors, and far too many bodies being fed to the pyre. The air was heavy and acidic, the smoke mingling with the rain, and Krem’s eyes burned as he trudged up the path to the next little shack. The door was already slightly ajar, and he peered around the corner with a cautious hand on the hilt of his shortsword. Ellana was on her knees in a corner, wearing thick leather gloves and a kerchief tied around her mouth and nose, just as he did.

“You shouldn’t be out here, your worship,” he said softly, kneeling beside her. “We can’t afford losing you to the plague, and it’s dismal work besides.”

“I know,” she sighed, without looking up. Her hands rested in her lap, toying with a ragged, threadbare stuffed animal. It had been well-loved at one point, but was now covered in so much moss and mold it was impossible to tell what it had been meant to resemble. In front of her was a tiny cradle, the wood soft and peeling with rot. Tears shone in violet eyes, but didn’t fall. “I just...I had to do something…”

Krem’s lips tightened and he slipped an arm around her shoulders. The girl leaned into the touch, letting her head rest against him with a quiet sigh that took his own breath away. He was certain she could hear his heart racing beneath his chestplate, pounding with desperate fists and reaching out for her. 

“I wish we could have come sooner,” she whispered. “I wish we could have done something to stop this plague from spreading before it claimed an entire settlement.”

“So do I.” Krem squeezed her shoulder gently, then stood, pulling her up with him. “Come on. Back to camp with you. Bull hears one sniffle or cough out of you and it’ll be my hide he tans.”

Ellana allowed herself a tearful laugh. “That would be a shame indeed.”

The way back to camp took the pair across a rickety bridge, riddled with rotting and splintered planks. Beneath them, the dark waters of the Mire lapped at the wooden posts, its depth uncertain in the smoky, cloud-covered night. They stepped carefully, testing each plank before letting their full weight settle on it. It was only a short distance to the next shore, hardly more than a few yards, but it seemed to take forever.

Then, a plank cracked with a horrific, creaking snap, and Ellana’s foot went straight through. With a sharp, terrified scream, she fell, and the water engulfed her.

“Shit! Your worship!” Krem whirled and tried to grab her, but his fingers closed on empty air where her hand had been just seconds before. Tottering on the edge of the bridge, he peered into the black water, rippling where she’d plunged into it, but the surface was otherwise undisturbed. His heart was in his throat. She should have come up by now. Why hadn’t she come back up? “El--Ellana…?”

A low, croaking groan sent his blood running cold. Across the water, the undead rose, stagnant, mossy water dripping from empty eye sockets and bogrot clinging to their bones in place of skin.

“Shit!” Krem spat again. Nimble fingers undid the clasps of his breastplate and greaves, and shed his gauntlets before taking a deep breath and plunging into the reeking, icy cold water.

It surrounded him like oil, slick and uncomfortable. The smell of rot and filth swam up his nose, and Krem fought not to gag. When he opened his eyes beneath the water, it stung horribly, but he fought through the pain, searching the water for a trace of red. Swamp weeds swayed in the deep water and reached for him like cruel, slippery fingers, and tangled amongst them was the Herald, struggling weakly. A bubble of air burst from her mouth as she lost her breath. With a few powerful strokes, Krem was beside her, tearing at the weeds with a short dagger pulled from up his sleeve to free her. With one arm locked tightly around the girl’s waist, he struck for the surface with the other.

They broke up into the cold air, coughing and gasping. Ellana threw her arms around him, her face pressed against his neck, and a heaving sob wracked her small body, followed by several watery coughs. Krem pulled them ashore, soaking and slightly sticky, only find that they were surrounded by a score of hissing, shrieking skeletal warriors. He drew his sword, till holding Ellana to his chest even as her knees gave out, her fingers digging into his jerkin, tears burning against his skin.

“Ssh, it’s okay…” he murmured against her ear, though his voice shook and his heart pounded. “I’ve got you, your worship...I’ve got you.”

One skeleton lunged forward with a garbled scream, and Krem slashed straight through its jaw. A well-placed kick shattered the rotting ribcage and the creature crumbled into dust. Two more came at them from the side, and the mercenary spun and swung his sword in a diagonal arc, smashing them both to bits. Already his breathing was labored, clutching the weeping Herald tightly as he fought. Just as the remaining undead were closing in, a good half of them burst into flames, filling the night with a horrible, unholy shriek and the worst smell imaginable; rotting flesh, mold, and bogrot, all burning.

“Need some help there, aye?” a cheery voice called.

Relief surged through Krem’s veins and a broad grin broke across his lips. “Dalish!” he shouted, voice torn and ragged. “‘Bout time you showed up!”

“Leave it t’ye to be havin’ all the fun t’yerself!” Another burst of flame warmed his back as the rest of the undead went up in a burning terror.

Krem sank to the peaty ground, cradling Ellana against him. His fellow Charger jogged up to them, slinging her bow over her shoulder. She was elven, as her name implied, and taller than was really reasonable. Her hair was nearly white, though the only lines on her pretty face were dark green bloodwriting that matched her wide eyes. “What happened?” she asked in her lilting accent.

“Bridge gave out,” panted Krem, idly rubbing his hand up and down the other woman’s back as she hiccupped and sniffled against him. “The Herald took a plunge.”

Dalish gave a nod of understanding. “I’ll head for camp and have a healer at the ready, then?” she suggested with a concerned glance at the smaller elf before she sprinted away with a long-legged lope.

“I’m sorry…”

Krem looked down in surprise at the whimpered words, brown eyes softening. “...what?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated with a little sob. “I just...I was so scared. I thought I was going to drown and--”

“I’d never have let you drown.” Krem assured her, holding the girl tighter against him until his lips were pressed against her ear. “Never. I’d never let anything hurt you, your worship. Not on my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all enjoyed this first chapter! If you'd like to yell and/or scream at me, you can find me on tumblr at fatale-distraction.tumblr.com  
> Please comment/message me with any concerns, constructive criticism, or unintelligible screeching you may have! I love hearing from my readers. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise in Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the last, but if I had extended into the next scene, it would have been WAAAAYYYYYY too long. Sorry about that!

“I feel like such a damn fool,” Ellana sniffed.

After falling into the swampy waters of the Fallow Mire, she’d been bundled up and fussed over back at camp. Healers hovered over her for two days, treating every little sniffle or cough as though it were plague. Eventually, it was determined that, save for a slight head cold from being in the icy water, she was in perfect health and permitted to travel. She’d set course for Haven immediately, and made the tavern her first stop. She was still getting over her cold.

Flissa, the barmaid refilled her clay mug with more hot ale while Sera picked at her teeth with the splintered end of a chicken bone, her feet kicked up in front of her on the table. The pair sat together in front of the fire, a threadbare shawl given to her by one of the village ladies wrapped around Ellana’s shoulders. 

“Well what’d you expect from a ‘mire’, really?” the blonde elf snorted. “Doesn’t even sound like a fun time, yeah?”

“I didn’t think it’d be a...a ghost mire. Not a single survivor, Sera! Not one. And then there’s me crying in a corner over some mouldy doll and nearly drowning myself.”

Sera cackled. “Right in front of your nice Tevinter boy! ‘Least he got to play hero, right?” A blonde eyebrow waggled suggestively at Ellana. “Boys like that whole damsel in distress thingy, don’t they? Never understood it myself. I like a girl who can toss me around a little, you know?” She took a long gulp of her own ale before catching the pout Ellana sent her way. “Sorry, am I not helpin’?”

“ _ No! _ ”

“Listen,” Sera plopped her mug back down on the worn wooden table. “What I’m sayin’ is...You fall in the water, Kremy gets to feel big an’ tough and save the day. Tiny little El all cryin’ and vulnerable and shite, an’ he’s probably thinkin’ how bloody cute you are! What with your little nose all red in the cold and your droopy ears.”

“You think so?” an uncertain Ellana mumbled, tracing the rings stained into the wood with an absent finger. “I’m sure he’s having himself a good laugh over it with his friends. Some Herald…”

 

“Goddamn, Ellana’s so bloody cute…” Krem grumbled to himself, lost in thought as he leaned against a cobbled stone wall outside Haven’s gate. After settling in, Bull and his Lieutenant took to hanging around the stables, watching the Inquisition’s commander drilling his troops and overseeing their own men as they mingled and trained with the others. That Ellana spent most of her time in the stables and smithy when she wasn’t with Sera in the tavern could only be considered a blessed coincidence. 

“Who’s a handsome boy?” Ellana cooed as she brushed down her hart in preparation for a journey through Hinterlands to Redcliffe Village. “Who’s a handsome boy? You are! Yes, you’re a very handsome fellow!”

“Krem!” Bull thwacked his Lieutenant across the back of his head with a broad hand. “It is customary to thank a lady when she compliments you!”

The young man pawed the Qunari away with mock irritation. “I think she’s talking to her stag, Chief.” 

Ellana cast them an amused look over her shoulder and laughed. The Iron Bull gave his second a light shove toward her. “Go get her,  _ stag _ .” 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Krem moved closer and leaned against the fence of the pen and watched as she combed a particularly nasty-looking mat out of the shaggy grey fur. The hart, large, powerful, and calm, stood perfectly still as she worked. 

“He’s a beauty,” Krem said.

Ellana glanced over her shoulder again. “Isn’t he? Don’t get too close, though. He’s got a mean temper.”

The hart flicked his ear and huffed, as though upset at the insinuation that he was anything less than a perfect doll. 

“He seems so easy-going. What’s his name?”

“This is Ser Winston Fluffybottom III,” she said with a grand gesture. Ser Winston gave a small hoot and nuzzled at his mistress’ flaming red locks.

“Ser--” Krem choked on a laugh. “What happened to the other two?”

“Nothing.” Ellana shrugged. “I just thought it sounded more regal.” 

“What makes you say he’s got a temper? He seems pretty sweet...”

As Krem asked, he stretched a hand out absently to tuck a flyaway curl behind the Herald’s pointed ear. The moment his finger brushed her cheek, the hart shrieked and honked angrily, stomping cloven hooves and swinging his antlers at the young merc. He stumbled back a bit, the sudden outburst taking him by surprise. His immediate concern was for Ellana’s safety, but somehow she managed to still the infuriated Winston with a gentle hand against the side of his neck without coming to any harm. Still snorting and huffing, the hart flicked his ears and tail and let himself be shooed away into his stall.

“That.”

“Ah.”

“Harts can be pretty territorial by nature, and he’s especially protective over me.” Ellana heaved herself up and over the wooden fence, her feet sinking into the snowy ground and sending up a small flurry as she landed. The wind tugged at the pale shawl draped around her shoulders and dusted powdery white snow through her vibrantly red hair.

“You don’t say,” Krem said with a weak laugh that sputtered away when the elven woman reached a hand up to brush a stray flake of snow from his cheek. Her fingers were soft and warm, and he fought the urge to lean into the touch, to capture her wrist and press a long, appreciative kiss to her pulse.

“You’re cute when you’re scared shitless,” she laughed, giving his arm a squeeze as she walked away.

Krem watched her go with his mouth hanging slightly open, his fingers brushing the place she’d touched. “Shit…” he whispered.

“What’s wrong, Krem de la Krem?” his commander said with a grin. “Cat got your tongue did she?”

“Chief…” he replied distantly. “I think I’m in love.”

 

The entire journey to Redcliffe, Krem stared at Ellana astride Ser Winston, his thoughts consumed almost entirely by the intense desire to kiss her freckled cheeks and rosy lips until her eyes were misty and clouded with lust. He’d had crushes before, had relationships before, even fancied himself in love once, when he was much younger, but never had he experienced such a powerful pull to one person. Every trilling laugh and sweet smile shook him to his core, every brush of her fingers sent sparks flickering through his nerves, and every whiff of lilac as she passed by was nearly enough to make him swoon like an old lady.

Ahead of him, the Herald and her Seeker conversed in low tones. Cassandra was still a bit uncertain that going to the rebel mages for help with the Breach was the right decision, but she was willing to abide by Ellana’s decision. Personally, Krem might have gone with the Templars, but then, in Tevinter, regular citizens were at the mercy of the ruling-class mages, most as corrupt and callous as any noble anywhere else in the world. Here in the southern lands, even a hint of magic was enough to drag mere children from their families and lock them in a tower, left at the mercy of the Templars and far away from the public eye. Pondering over this, he had to admire Ellana’s choice. 

“You look so thoughtful, Cremisius.” Her voice broke through his contemplation like a songbird’s. Ellana had reigned Ser Winston back to ride level with Krem and his sleek roan mare.

He coughed to cover a nervous laugh. “Just reminiscing.”

“About what?” the elf asked, leaning over eagerly. “I love hearing your stories about the Chargers.” 

“Ah, well…” he thought for a moment. “Have I told you about the time we got a job to clear a nest of spiders out of this noble’s winter estate in Nevarra?” 

Ellana listened attentively as the young mercenary expounded on the tale. His voice was smooth and calming, the gentle timbre easing her mind. She watched him with wide-eyed admiration as they rode side by side through the sunny hills. The sun glinted off his armor, shone on the slight beading of sweat collecting at his brow, and gleamed in the dark strands of auburn hair. He was gorgeous. She’d seen copper statuettes from Tevinter at the Orelsian markets, beaten metal sculptures of ancient heroes. To her eyes, beneath the warm Ferelden sun, Cremisius looked just like them, a shining likeness of the Old Gods brought to warm life.

“--webbin’ up the baths...Not really much of a story. Just a lot of spiders.” Krem shook his head quickly to purge the memory, and Ellana shivered in empathy. 

“Sounds awful. Weren’t you scared?” 

Krem hummed a bit. “Well, at first, yeah. Walked into the foyer and the place was covered in webs as thick as leather, spiders the size of a mabari skitterin’ about, billions of little tiny ones all over the walls…” Ellana let out a horrified wail and Krem laughed. “After a few hours of clearing the buggers out, it just became a chore. Even the matriarch spider was just ‘eugh, another bigass fuckin’ spider…’ The little ones though…” He shuddered. “Those are way more frightening. They get down your shirt, your socks, your hair...your breeches.”

“EUGH!!” She cringed visibly and shared a cathartic laugh with her handsome companion. It was a beautiful day in the Hinterlands, and things were looking bright. Ellana had a very good feeling about their meeting with the Grand Enchantress in Redcliffe.

 

“What do you mean you weren’t expecting us?” demanded Cassandra, eyes aflame. They had made their way to the inn for their meeting with Former Grand Enchantress Fiona, an older elven woman with an olive complexion and sharp eyes. The bar was full of refugee mages, as was the rest of the town. They were all homeless now that the Circles had disbanded and fallen, and free from the Templars and yet in even more danger from them than ever before.

“We’re here at your invitation from our meeting in Val Royeaux.” Ellana spoke with a solid, even tone, but Krem felt her fingers tighten against his arm and saw her eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“You must be mistaken,” insisted the darker haired elf. “I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

“But...we spoke to someone who looked exactly like you.”

“Exactly like me?” The mage seemed genuinely confused. “I suppose it could be magic at work, but...why would anyone…?” Fiona shook her head as if to clear a hanging mist from her eyes. “Whoever or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The Free Mages have already...pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

The was a brief silence during which every jaw in the Inquisition’s party seemed to have dropped. Krem’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he shared a shocked look with his commander. 

“You...I’m sorry, you  _ what? _ ” demanded Ellana.

“An alliance with Tevinter?” Cassandra repeated with disbelief plain in her tone. “Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

“This right here is why you can’t trust mages…” Bull grumbled.

With a downtrodden expression, Fiona continued. “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

“An alliance with Tevinter was a terrible idea! What could have possessed you to agree to such a thing?” the Herald interrupted. She stretched her hands out to her fellow elf and repeated in a softer, more urgent voice, “How could you do such a thing? To sell all these people off to a magister? You’ve given every mage here over into slavery for Tevinter!”

The woman’s face contorted into one of abject agony. “All hope of peace died at the Conclave with Justinia,” she choked out. “This...bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we  _ had  _ no choice. We are losing this war. I had to save as many of my people as I could.”

At that moment, the door to the inn was unlatched and thrown with a clatter of metal and wood. The group turned as one to see a tall, stocky man in extravagant red robes and a strange pointed hood advancing. His dark eyebrows cut a straight line across a high forehead, sparse, stringy facial hair and a smile that could only be described as ‘slimy’. 

“Welcome, my friends!” he said with transparently fake joviality. “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

Fiona’s expression turned cold and hostile. “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

The Magister turned to peer down a long, blunt nose at Ellana. “The southern mages are under my command. And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting.” His voice took on a low, almost menacing quality, a predatory growl that had the red-haired girl leaning closer to her protector, though her posture remained as tall and straight as a woman of her stature could manage. 

“Tell me about this alliance of yours, ser,” she said. “Fiona tells me she is ‘indentured’ to you.”

Alexius went on about the lack of legal status the mages had under Imperium law, and how they must work off their debt to repay the protection offered to them. Krem scowled the entire way through. What the Imperium called indentured servitude was truly no different than slavery. It was nearly impossible even for a gentile mage to work their way out of debt, much less anyone with no magical talents. And for an non-human, even one with magical ability? It would never happen. Mages like Fiona would remain bound to servitude for the remainder of their lives, their children sold away into slavery to pay off the debt of their parents once they died. That period of ten years of work would be increased again and again as their living expenses built up, as an injury or illness rendered them unable to work. Anything could happen in ten years, and anything would be used as an excuse to add on to their debt.

He’d seen it himself. Familiar vendors in the market places, friends, even family. Krem bit down on his lips to keep from causing a scene. Drawing attention to himself in front of this Magister was the last thing he wanted to do. Ellana’s trembling hand on his arm was the only thing that kept him from bolting from the room, or ducking behind The Iron Bull, however unlikely it was the Alexius gave a damn about some military deserter. 

The pained outcry of the former Grand Enchantress broke him out of his reverie. “You said not all my people would be military!” she was crying. “There are children, the old and infirm, those not suited to--”

“And one day, I’m sure they’ll all be productive citizens of Tevinter,” snapped Alexius, his inflection clear. “Once their debts are paid.”

The Herald looked squeamish. “And the Arl of Redcliffe?” she asked, changing the subject. “I haven’t seen him or his men in the village.” 

“The Arl and his men have left the village,” said the Magister with affected politeness. “There were...tensions growing. I did not want an incident.” 

“Then perhaps  _ you  _ ought to have left,” returned Ellana with equally false pleasantry. “Rather than turning the poor Arl out of his own home.”

A thick eyebrow raised at this, but Alexius said nothing, moving to a nearby table instead and seating himself like a king. Ellana followed, mimicking his carriage with unimpressed levity. If he noticed he was being mocked, he chose to ignore it, instead waving a young man dressed in yellow to his side.

“Felix, would you send for a scribe, please?” he said as the man approached. “Pardon my manners. My son, Felix, friends.” Felix bowed toward the Herald with a far more friendly and pleasing continence than his father.

“I am not surprised you’re here,” Alexius continued as his son departed in search of a scribe. “Containing the Breach is not a feat many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious indeed.” A hint of derision peeked through his high praise, one that didn’t go unnoticed by the Inquisition. 

Ellana only smirked. “Well, when you’re fighting a massive tear in the sky, you can hardly afford to think small. I may seem as tiny as a mouse to you, ser, but I assure you I have very big ideas.”

Alexius opened his mouth to respond, but became distracted as Felix approached again, his step lethargic and clumsy, head lolling on his shoulders. Ellana took one look at him and was on her feet in an instant, followed closely by the man’s father. The younger man collapsed into the Herald’s outstretched arms, and she held the much larger man up with impressive strength. Krem, standing at attention behind her chair, nearly drew his sword at the sudden movement, but forced himself to relax when his sharp eyes saw a scrap of paper pressed into Ellana’s hand and disappear up her sleeve.

“I’m so sorry!” Felix was saying as he seemed to regain himself. “Please forgive my clumsiness, my lady.”

Alexius made his excuses and bustled his son off, clucking like a mother hen and calling Fiona to accompany them back to the castle. Felix limped away after his father, with the Grand Enchantress in tow. “We will send word to the Inquisition and conclude this business at a later date,” the Magister said before snapping the tavern door shut behind him.

Ellana watched him go, then turned her attention to the scrap of paper in her hand. “Come to the Chantry. You are in danger,” she read, brows furrowed.

 

“Well, aren’t we secrety…” Sera mused, leaning on her friend’s arm and peering at the letter. 

“This could be a trap, boss.” The Iron Bull warned. Krem growled his agreement, glaring at the door the magister had taken his leave through. 

“I feel like this whole mission has been nothing but traps,” replied Ellana with a tired sigh. “What’s one more?”

 

As soon as the doors to the chantry swung open, a sickly greenish glow poured out along with the screech of demons and shades. All three warriors in the group jumped to fling Ellana behind them, but she ducked easily under each swipe and skittered forward into the pews, bow drawn. She loosed an arrow and immediately rolled to cover behind the shattered remains of a wooden bench. In the midst of the crush of demons, just beneath the crackling maw of Fade Rift, dark-skinned mage cracked a shade across the head and jabbed his staff blade behind him, piercing up through the throat of another. He straightened, sparkling grey eyes found Ellana already on her feet with another arrow nocked, and he grinned. 

“Oh, good you’re finally here,” he said in a cultured tone of voice with a healthy dose of amusement. “Now, help me close this, would you?” Behind him, a Rage demon was bubbling to life, stretching a molten, dripping hand out for the dark-haired man. Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he jammed his staff into its middle and unleashed a cloud of ice that burst from the inside out at the same moment as Ellana put an arrow fletch-deep in it’s eye.

The Bull made a deep rumble of approval that had Krem rolling his eyes. “Keep it in yer pants, Chief, at least ‘til the fight is over…” he said in an aside, hefting his hammer off his back.

His commander only laughed and swung his own weapon free. “You know I fight better with my dick out. Needs room to breathe.”

Krem and Cassandra shared a noise of disgust and charged into the fray alongside the Qunari, Sera cackling alongside them.

The demons were dealt with in fairly short measure, weakening the rift enough to allow Ellana to close it completely. A bolt of electric green energy arked from the palm of her hand into the fluctuating core, locking into it with a jolt that shocked throughout her tiny body. She gritted her teeth against the pain, focused all of her will into knitting the cracks in the Veil together, and with a massive effort, hauled back and the Rift crashed shut with an otherworldly screech, the raw power crackling through nerve and skin and bone. Ellana nearly fell to her knees, and Krem hurried forward to catch her as she pitched forward. Before he could reach her, however, another pair of strong arms came around her, and Krem ground to an indignant halt.

“Fascinating!” the mage exclaimed, supporting Ellana’s weight as though she were little more than a leaf. “You don’t even know how you do it, do you? You just wiggling your fingers and boom! Rift closes.”

“I suppose so…” said Ellana with a weak laugh, clinging to the leather pauldron that covered one shoulder, and the bare, rippling mahogany muscles of the other. The man flashed her a winning smile and helped her back to her feet, holding her arms gently while she found her balance. Krem frowned. “Who...exactly are you?”

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of house Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

Krem relaxed. He knew of the Pavus house by reputation, most notably for the interesting rumors regarding the exploits of its only heir. “Another Tevinter,” he said. “We’re just cropping up all over the place, aren’t we.”

Dorian raised an amused and quite interested eyebrow at his countryman, deep grey eyes sweeping over him head to toe with an approving smirk. Krem became immediately uncomfortable again and cast his eyes downward, shuffling his feet and coughing a bit. “Yes, and some in more interesting places than others.” 

Ellana gave him a cautious glance, but otherwise didn’t bother to move away from the mage, even while Sera and Cassandra glowered at him with suspicion, fingering their weapons. Dorian hardly seemed to care, although he certainly noticed.

“Suspicious friends you have here,” he said with a casual breeziness. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Your mentor?” Cassandra repeated. “And why should we trust anything you say?”

“Well, you’re free to ignore my advice if you like,” he said with that same easy air.

“I was expecting Felix to be here,” Ellana interjected tactfully.

Dorian’s stony gaze softened as it turned back to the Herald. “I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.”

There was a brief discussion regarding Felix, apparently suffering from the remains of a months-long illness. Alexius doted on his only son, though Krem suspected it was more out of selfish reasons than anything. Parents in Tevinter tended to treat their children as little more than pieces in the unending game of social climbing, as he knew well enough. 

“Look,” Dorian was saying with exasperation. Cassandra was challenging him again over his relationship to the magister. “You must know there’s danger; that should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you as if by magic. Yes,” he went on at a surprised look from Ellana. “To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“Time?” Ellana repeated, eyes growing wider than usual.

“ITSELF?” Sera gasped.

Krem didn’t understand much about magic. He was better at hitting things; in fact, he was VERY good at hitting things. But even a dunce could understand that playing with time was a potentially dangerous and horrifying concept. The Breach between the Fade and the waking world was bad enough, but to be putting tears in the fabric of time and space? The world would be so full of bleeding holes it would come apart entirely. 

“I just don’t understand why he would rip time to shreds like this just to gain a few hundred lackeys!” Dorian finished his explanation with a frustrated shake of his head, then glanced up as a small door in the back of the Chantry opened.

“He didn’t do it for them,” Felix announced as he came forward, looking tired and pale.

Dorian gave him a fond smile. “Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card,” replied Felix. “I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” He turned to the Herald with an expression wracked with worry and guilt. “My father has joined a cult; Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves Venatori. And I can tell you one thing, my lady. Whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

The pronouncement fell heavily on the group. Ellana’s typically fair and rosy complexion paled until she was practically grey. Sera moved closer to her, wrapping a comforting and protective arm around her while Cassandra placed herself squarely behind them both. Krem felt trembling fingers reach out to touch his hand. He gripped them tightly, lacing their fingers together with a firm squeeze. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all enjoyed this first chapter! If you'd like to yell and/or scream at me, you can find me on tumblr at fatale-distraction.tumblr.com  
> Please comment/message me with any concerns, constructive criticism, or unintelligible screeching you may have! I love hearing from my readers. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redcliffe castle: Time warps, pain, lyrium, and more pain.

A brief return to Haven to consult with the Inquisition’s advisors left Ellana with far too much free time; time to drive herself into mad, endless circles thinking about Felix’s dire pronouncement. Alexius was after her, specifically. To kill her or capture her, it wasn’t clear, but neither prospect particularly thrilled her. She spent her days pacing back and forth in her quarters, after being banished from pacing in the tavern. Sera claimed watch her fret was making her dizzy. Worry and panic gnawed at the Herald, just as she gnawed at her nails. She felt sick, constantly on the verge of vomiting, yet she couldn’t make herself think of anything but Alexius and his slimey, faux smile. 

Of course, there was only one appropriate course of action, and a plan was carefully concocted by Sera to take the Herald’s mind off of things.

And so, Krem had the pleasure of watching Ellana get smacked in the back of the head with a massive ball of snow and plunge face-first into a snowbank. He heaved a long sigh of admiration as a disheveled mess of red hair poked back up out of the snow and the Herald began hurling frosty missiles back at her cackling friend.

“Those guys are dorks,” The Bull said with a chuckle and a shake of his horned head.

“I love her,” replied Krem dreamily as she caught a second snowball directly in the face and fall back into the mound of snow behind her. Bull exchanged an amused look with a tall, broad-faced man with blond hair, who shrugged his shoulders with a grunt. 

“You’re a dork, too.”

The blond man nodded in silent agreement, and Krem glared at them both. “Oh, piss off. Let me have this.”

 

Finally, after what seemed to the Herald like weeks, Leliana called the restless elf into the war room to discuss the next course of action. Cullen had been adamant in his suggestions that they abandon the mages and turn to the Templars for help instead, and the Spymistress favored freeing the mages from the control of the Tevinter magister. The Commander argued that Redcliffe was impossible to take by siege, particularly if guarded by mages, while Leliana argued that was precisely why they must be rid of Alexius. Josephine wasn’t thrilled by either solution, and she made it known loudly and often. There was quite a lot of arguing between her advisors, and it all made Ellana’s head spin like a top. 

“Alexius has joined a cult that is obsessed with me,” Ellana interrupted by slamming her hands on the table, fed up with the arguing. “I highly doubt they’ll accept our apologies and let us be on our way. The templars at least don’t seem to see us as much of a threat; yet. And we cannot allow a foreign power to unseat an Arl and make off with what’s left of Ferelden’s mage population.”

“We cannot accept defeat now,” agreed Cassandra. The Herald gave her a rather surprised look. The Seeker had been staunchly against recruiting the mages, but after meeting with Alexius, she seemed to have changed her tune. “There must be a solution.”

“What of the Arl?” said Ellana, rubbing at her temples. “Surely he wants his castle back. Even if his men cannot assist us, perhaps they know of a way into the castle? A back entrance of some kind.”

Josephine responded, reading off of a missive pinned to her portable desk. “After he was displaced, Arl Teagan rode straight for Denerim to petition the crown for help. I doubt the Arl will want our assistance once his nephew’s army lays siege to his castle.”

“Wait,” Leliana said, distantly, as though recalling a memory from long ago. “There  _ is _ a secret passage into the castle; an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send a few of my agents in.”

“Too risky,” countered Cullen. “Those agents would be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction.” Lady Nightingale’s smile gave the elven Herald an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

“Keep the attention on Lady Lavellan while we disable the magister’s defenses…” Cullen said to himself as Ellana opened her mouth to disagree. “It’s a gamble, but it might work.”

“Fortunately, you’ll have my help!” The door swung open with a majestic crash that interrupted a second attempt at blatant refusal, and Dorian strolled through, followed by a harassed-looking soldier who babbled apologetically.

“C-Commander, this man--”

“That will be all, Jim.” Cullen waved the man away with an irritable growl. 

Dorian didn’t wait for the man’s glower to fall on him before proceeding. “Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help,” he declared. “So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

The Commander gave a short-tempered sigh and turned to Ellana. “The plan puts you in the most danger, my lady,” he told her softly. “We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this.”

She opened her mouth and put a finger up to say no, to tell them to send someone else or a body double or to quite simply fuck off. “I’ll do it,” the girl said instead, in a voice commanding far more confidence than she felt was really warranted. 

Cullen gave her an encouraging nod. “Very well. We’ll send a few of the Chargers in with Leliana’s men,” he suggested. “They’ll infiltrate the Keep and neutralize the Tevinter soldiers while the Herald keeps Alexius occupied.”

“Are the Chargers really suited to stealth?” the Spymistress arched an eyebrow.

“They have rogues, and their Lieutenant is as versatile as he is capable. I have no doubt they’re precisely the guard your spies will need”

Ellana beamed at this high praise of Cremisius and his men from their commander, a look that neither Dorian nor Leliana failed to miss. They both shared a secretive little smile over the girl’s head.

“Very well,” said Leliana, stifling her knowing grin. “Have Lieutenant Aclassi and his best team of infiltrators assemble along with my men. We move at once.”

 

In the foyer of Redcliffe’s castle, the Inquisition’s team was met by a very smug young man with obnoxiously straight posture who insisted that the Herald proceed alone. Ellana exchanged a raised eyebrow with Cassandra, then turned on her heel.

“Alright, bye then,” she said, waving over her shoulder. The Seeker and the Iron Bull both turned to follow. 

“I-I...what?”

“If my friends can’t go, then I won’t either,” clarified the diminutive woman with a dangerous smile. “Your Alexius will just have to come meet us on my terms.”

“Aw,” Bull said, wiping a pretend tear from his eye. “Friends.”

The seneschal narrowed his eyes, glaring at each of them in turn, but ultimately the man gave a curt nod before leading them through into the main hall to meet with his master. A warm fire crackled behind the Arl’s throne, where Alexis had made himself quite comfortable, with his son attending him at his right hand side, and Fiona standing a few steps down on the left looking truly despondent.

“My Lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.” The announcement was made in a tone of defeated irritation, but the magister hardly seemed to notice the man. Alexius stood and spread his arms in what was surely meant to be a friendly gesture, but with the shifting light of flames dancing across the red of his cloak, the overall effect was more foreboding than welcoming.

“My friend!” Alexius said. “It is good to see you again...and your associates, of course.” His eyes flicked over his unexpected guests with a glimmer of disapproval.

Ellana frowned. “You, ser, are not my friend.” She gestured to her companions. “These are my friends. And this is a matter of business, not come teaparty charade.”

Alexius bristled at this, but retained his composure. “Well, regardless, I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

Fiona moved forward with a challenge in her step. “Are we mages to have no say in deciding our fate?” she demanded.

Alexius gave a tired sigh. “Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives,” he said, as though exhausted of having to explain his trustworthiness to her time and time again.

“Yes, because you simply ooze trust,” snarked the Herald. “You’ve just got one of those faces.”

He shot her a snide look. “Ah yes, the Magisterium tells me that so often,” he sneered, turning to sit back down in his pilfered throne. “Shall we begin our talks? The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

Ellana smiled at him, sweet as spun sugar, but with poison in her eyes. “Absolutely nothing.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She knows everything, Father,” Felix burst.

Alexius shifted in his seat to peer up at his son in horror. “Felix, what have you done?”

“Your son is concerned for you, Alexius.” There was a warning note to Ellana’s speech. “He only wants what’s best for you--”

“You!” the magister whirled on her. “You walk in here with your stolen mark--a gift you don’t even understand-- and think you can sway me with pretty little words? You’re nothing but a mistake!”

“Tell me about it,” she grumped. “I certainly didn’t want this stupid thing, whatever it is.” 

Bull choked on a laugh and Alexius narrowed his eyes, flames shimmering in their dark depths. “It belongs to your betters,” he spat. “You wouldn’t even begin to understand its purpose.”

“Father,” pleaded Felix. “Listen to yourself. Do you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be.” Dorian’s voice rang out across the hall in his third grandiose entrance, sauntering out from behind a pillar with a casual sort of grace. 

“Dorian,” Alexius growled. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder one has power you would not believe. He will rise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

Ellana snorted in spite of her worry. She couldn’t help it. She’d heard as much from fanatics all over Thedas; Dalish, Andrastians and other assorted cults. Extremists were all exactly alike, regardless of any difference of culture or belief. “Blah, blah, blah, my cult is better than yours,” she sighed, tongue laced with sarcasm. “Tell me, what outrageous promises has this ‘Elder One’ made to you? Surely something I’ve never heard before.”

“He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“You will not involve my people in this!” cried an outraged Fiona.

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen!” Dorian said with a fierce expression. “Why would you support this?”

“Stop it, Father,” Felix begged again. “Give up the Venatori. Let the Southern mages fight the Breach and let’s go home.”

“No!” Alexius’ voice shattered on an angry sob that startled the Herald and her agents. “It’s the only way, Felix, he can save you!”

“Save me?” the boy repeated in soft shock.

“There is a way. The Elder One promised. If I do undo the mistake at the Temple…” he turned to glower in Ellana’s direction, who watched, suddenly tearful, as Felix put a hand over his father’s arm. 

“I’m going to die,” he said, without a trace of fear or regret in his voice. “You need to accept that.” Dorian made a tight noise in his throat, his jaw clenched against tears.

There was a brief pause. Alexius kept his face carefully free of expression, but an angry set to his jaw and clenched, trembling fists betrayed him. “Venatori, seize them!” he called. “The Elder One demands the life of this knife-ear!”

There was no responding cry. Only a few strangled noises choked off as necks were snapped and daggers plunged into shoulders. Lieutenant Aclassi stepped out from behind a pillar, cleaning blood from his sword with a rag. A dark-skinned elf appeared at his side who preferred her tongue to a cloth. Leliana’s agents stepped out to join them as Venatori bodies fell and bled out onto the cold stone floors. 

“Your men are dead, Alexius.” Ellana’s voice was soft and quiet, but it cut through the hall like an arrow. She no longer stared at him with a stone-hard expression of hate, but one of sorrow and pity. 

The magister’s face twisted in agony and anger. “You…” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You are a mistake! You never should have existed!” 

As he spoke, he raised a clawed gauntlet, clutching a pendant that glowed with a crackling blue-green energy that seared Ellana’s eyes. She threw an arm up over her face and heard her friends yelling, heard Krem swear and call for her, heard Dorian’s spell shoot past her ear. Peeking over her arm, she watched in horror as a swirling vortex sprang to life, churning and pulsing hypnotically. Someone collided with her, and she felt a sharp pull behind her stomach before the void closed over her and she saw nothing but darkness.

 

Just as suddenly as the world had blinked out around her, Ellana was thrown forward, plunging face-first into dank, smelly water with a screech. She pushed herself up with a choked gasp, thanking every one of her gods that the water was only knee-deep. There was another splash next to her and an indignant shout. Dorian sputtered angrily, wiping his face and glaring around as though looking for the doomed person who dared to inconvenience him so. Before either of them could reorient themselves, a pair of armed guards sloshed into the room.

“By the blood of the elder one!”

“Where did they come from?”

Ellana and Dorian exchanged a confused glance, shrugged, and unsheathed their weapons. The scuffle was brief; between Dorian’s swift spell-slinging and Ellana’s pin-point accuracy, the two men fell before they knew what was happening.

“Displacement?” mused Dorian once their attackers had been dispatched. “Interesting. It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The Rift must have moved us...to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

Ellana watched him pace about the room, mulling over the situation in a garble of magical expertise. “The last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall,” she said helpfully. 

“Let’s see...If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t...oh! Of course!” said Dorian with an enthusiastic clap. “It’s not simply where. It’s when!” The elven girl paled as the mage continued. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus! It moved us through time!”

“What?” she squeaked. “What do you mean, through time? Did we go forward, or-or back? How do we get back to our time? What if we CAN’T get back to our time?!” Ellana shook him by the shoulders, eyes full of horror and fear.

“Those are all excellent questions, my dear,” replied Dorian cheerily. “We’ll have to find out, won’t we? Let’s look around, see where the Rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back. If we can get back.”

“If?” the girl whimpered. She followed Dorian out of the flooded cell, red lyrium sprouting from every corner in abundance, and into a hallway that was no less damp nor lyrium-choked. It appeared they were in the prisons deep beneath the castle, where people were thrown to be forgotten and waste away until they died rather than face justice. Together, they searched each cell, hoping to find a survivor who could tell them what year it was, but most were empty of anything but corpses and more of that unnerving lyrium.

In one cell, they found Lyse, an elven mage Ellana had befriended during their stay in the village, but his mind was so addled by the lyrium growing in his cell, all he could do was sing the same verses of the Chant over and over. 

“We’ll fix this, Lyse,” she told him, pressing his hand through the bars. “Don’t worry. I won’t let this happen.”

 

Dorian gave the young woman a curious look as they continued their search. “You’re exceedingly fond of that young man...Cremisius, was it?” Ellana blushed at that, but didn’t deny it. Dorian chuckled affectionately. “An elf and a Tevene...how will you break that one to your mother?”

“I won’t have to. They’re both long gone now,” she replied with a sad smile. 

Inwardly chastising himself, Dorian brushed a hand over her shoulder. “I am sorry. I didn’t know…”

“I think they would have liked him very much, if they’d had the chance to get to know him,” said Ellana with a thoughtful tilt to her head.

“He seems like a good lad. I wish you the best of luck with him.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” She smiled up at him. “But do you really think this is the best time to discuss this?” 

The mage glanced around at their surroundings, arching a dark brow at the leaking ceilings, sniffing derisively at the sharp shards of lyrium piercing the crumbling walls, humming at the mold and chitin crawling up the walls. “Perhaps not,” he said, smoothing his moustache. He side-stepped an unidentifiable bit of floating flotsam in the ankle-deep grime they sloshed through.

Her responding laugh sputtered out, and Ellana froze in her tracks in front of one of the dank, dripping cells, eyes going wide with horror. 

“Krem?” she said in a breathy, choked voice.

Within the cell, the man stirred, lifting his head to stare at her with dull red eyes. There was a long crack across one flat cheekbone that took a sudden turn and plunged down the side of his neck. Tiny, sharp crystals of red lyrium grew in clusters along the ragged seams of flesh and straight out of the wounds like a fungus. Hopeful recognition sparked in his eyes for only the briefest moment before it faded away into a cold, hard glare.

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head, hard lines of disappointment scarred into his face. “No, I’ll not be fooled again.”

“Krem, it’s me,” cried Ellana, clutching the bars with white knuckles. “It’s me, it’s Ellana!”

“The Herald is dead,” Krem said in a decisive, flat tone. “She was devoured by that Rift and she’s not coming back.” His voice dropped to a choked, hoarse whisper. “She’s gone. I know this. I won’t be tricked again. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.” 

“Cremisius…”

Suddenly, he surged forward with a snarl, trembling hands gripping the bars just above hers. Anger and hurt blazed in lyrium red eyes. “Don’t you call me that. You’re. Not. REAL!” he screamed, tears streaking down his face through tributaries carved by past tears in the dirt and filth caked on his cheeks.

Dorian put a firm hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come along now, Miss Lavellan. This is going nowhere, they lyrium has eaten away at his sanity…” he murmured, but Ellana shrugged him off and clutched at Krem’s hands instead, bloodied and bruised as they were. His eyebrows furrowed and crept up his forehead at her touch. Shaky hands reached for her through the bars, cupping her face in tender awe.

“Your worship…” he whispered tearfully, thumbs tracing circles in the dirt that stained her freckled cheeks. “You’re...you’re real…Ellana...” He stroked the side of her face and ran his fingers through the frizzy strands of red that had escaped her braids, eyes full.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, it’s me. Cremisius, you must tell me what year it is. Do you remember?”

A look of confusion furrowed his brow. “It’s...9:42 Dragon, I think.”

“9:42?” Dorian exclaimed. “Then we’ve missed an entire year!”

“Krem,” the elven woman grasped him by the arms, gazing up at him with imploring eyes. “We need to figure out a way to get back. We can stop all of this from happening, but we need to get back to before the Rift.”

“I can help,” Krem said immediately, squaring his slumped shoulders. “If it means I can kick that magister’s ass, I’ll do anything.”

The lock snapped open beneath Ellana’s nimble fingers without much difficulty. Security didn’t seem to matter much when the prisoners were so broken already. The moment Krem was free, he engulfed Ellana in a crushing embrace, fingers knotted in her hair as he pressed her close and inhaled her scent deeply, letting his breath out in a shuddering sigh that rattled Ellana straight down to her boots. She rested her head against his armored chest and slipped her hands around his waist. He was thin and gaunt and where his skin had once shone like polished copper, it was now dull and sickly grey. Her throat tightened along with her grip, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Ellana began to stroke his back and felt a responding shiver run down his spine, his breath coming out in a tearful quiver against her shoulder.

“Andraste’s grace, I’ve been waiting so long for you, your worship…” he choked out, lips brushing the sweat-stained skin of her neck as he spoke. 

Dorian cleared his throat, mouth twitching into a sad smile. “I do hate to interrupt such a--” his voice broke. “Such a touching moment...but we really must find Alexius if we’re to fix any of this.”

Ellana pulled back, clutching Krem by the elbows and peering up into his eyes. “Do you know where the others are? Bull, or Cassandra?”

He nodded. “Yes, both. This way,” he said, pulling her by the hand. He lead them down several dark, dripping hallways, walls shattered by spears of eerily glowing lyrium. They found Cassandra first, then Bull, both requiring no small amount of convincing to make them believe Ellana was real and not some lyrium-induced hallucination. 

 

 

“You know, when you disappeared like that?” The Bull said, pulling Ellana aside as they made their way up to the higher levels of the castle. The upper floors were just as dilapidated as the prison, if slightly drier. “Krem, he...I’ve never seen the kid like that. He flew into a rage and attacked Alexius with his bare hands. I’d swear there was murder in his eyes.”

“What...what happened?” she asked in a trembling voice, certain she didn’t want to know; but she had to.

“He was arrested, beaten, and tortured…” Bull replied. “To start with. Punishments got worse once Alexius forgot about him. Then the guards were free to do as they pleased. Don’t ask me to tell you about that, cause I won’t do it. I can’t say it. I had to listen to that kid screaming every night until the lyrium took his mind. Then it was quiet for a while. Until the nightmares started.” 

Ellana covered her mouth and choked back a gasping sob. She looked ahead to where Cremisius stalked, shoulders set hard and square. Gone was the cheerful, joking young man who told such entertaining stories in that warm voice like sweet caramel. Alexius had tortured and beaten that man into a bitter, angry person, the spark gone from his eyes and a heavy weight pushing him down. 

“But I didn’t tell you this to make you feel guilty. I wanted to warn you.” The Iron Bull’s remaining eye, gleaming red with the corruption of the lyrium, swiveled down to meet hers with an intense burn. “My boy would do anything for you. Not the Inquisition. Not the Herald.  _ You _ . Even if the whole world turned on you, you’d still be safe with him. Krem would fall on his own sword for you. So…” He grabbed her arm in a strong grip and they stopped, letting the others get slightly ahead of them. “Just keep that in mind when you go back. It’s not just the man up there that’s ready to put his life on the line, but that kid watchin’ you out in the snow with your friends, tellin’ you stories and catching you every time you fall. That kid’ll kill or be killed to keep you safe. You be sure to return the favor.”

“I will,” she promised, tears falling openly as she watched Krem’s strong back far ahead, his shoulders slumped and bent like a man twice his age. “I will.”

 

 

As it turned out, Leliana had fared worse than anyone else. For the entire year since Alexius had opened the Rift, she had been at the mercy of the worst Alexius’ torturers could throw at her. Her face was so scared and covered in stress lines, she appeared to have aged forty years. She hadn’t lost any of her drive, however, and her claws were as sharp as ever. As soon as she was free, her only goal was to find Alexius and make him pay. It was with that in mind that she lead their party to the main hall where the fate of Thedas had been thrown into chaos so long ago, to face the corrupt magister, surely reveling in the power he had been promised by his ‘Elder One’.

Only it wasn’t that simple. Things were rarely ever so simple. When they finally found Alexius, he was a broken man. Felix was at his side, a shriveled husk of the handsome young man he had once been, drained and defeated by his illness, but kept alive by some cruel magic. The man himself was turned toward the fireplace, staring into the flames with dead eyes as his end approached behind him.

“Alexius,” the Herald whispered as she came to a halt at the foot of the stairs. “Look what you’ve done. All this suffering, and for what?” 

“For my country, for my son…” he muttered, shaking his head. “But it means nothing now. I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

“Was it worth it?” Dorian said, seething at the back of his old mentor. “Everything you did to the world? To yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Alexius was still faced away from them. “All we can do is wait for it to end.” 

Ellana’s stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot. She reached for Krem’s hand beside her. His fingers twitched away and he winced at the slight contact, but after a moment he slipped his hand into hers with a gentle squeeze. “What do you mean?” she asked, voice shaky. “What’s ending?”

Alexius didn’t seem to hear her question. He just chuckled and continued. “The irony that you should appear now, of all possibilities. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. Nothing else. The Elder One comes: for me, for you, for us all.”

While he spoke, grieving his own folly, Leliana had snuck around behind him, dagger in hand. She grabbed the helpless Felix and pressed the jagged, rusty edge of the knife to his throat. 

Alexius cried out in desperation. “Felix!”

“Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done to him?” Dorian growled, cobalt eyes shining with angry tears.

“He would have died, Dorian!” the older man cried. “I saved him! Please!” He turned to Leliana, pleading with her, agony scared into the lines of his face. “Don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Leliana,” said Ellana in a trembling whisper. “Let him go, he is innocent!”

“No one is innocent,” the Nightingale hissed, drawing the blade across the listless lad’s neck with a cruel scowl. 

Alexius and Dorian cried out in unison, and Ellana hid her face in Krem’s arm with a sharp intake of breath. He watched the blood spurt from the other man’s throat without so much as a blink, though when Alexius unleashed a furious blast of magical energy toward the spymistress, he wrapped a protective arm around the girl’s shoulder. Dorian hurled a ball of flames at the magister, and Leliana let loose an arrow, and the battle had begun. 

The magister blocked both incoming missiles with a glowing blue barrier, but tearing herself away from her protector, Ellana opened her hand and pulled. Whatever magic Alexius was using was of the same breed as what had opened the Rifts, and his barrier fell at the Herald’s whim. The three warriors unsheathed their blades and charged, overwhelming the corrupted mage with brute force while the two archers and Dorian kept him on his toes. Altogether, the battle was pathetically short. Alexius had been defeated long ago, and not by any forces of the Inquisition, but by his own foolishness. 

Dorian crouched over the lifeless body of his old mentor. “He wanted to die, didn’t he…” he murmured to himself. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications…He lost Felix long ago and he didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

Kneeling next to him, Ellana leaned on his shoulder and put a comforting hand around him. “We still have a chance. If we can go back, we may be able to help him.”

He swiped a hand over his eyes, leaving a light smear of kohl behind. “I suppose so…” Around Alexius’ neck was a familiar amulet, which Dorian carefully removed and held aloft. “This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief,” he said, standing up and offering a gentlemanly had to Ellana. “Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour?!” cried Leliana. “Impossible, you must go now!” A sudden violent tremor shook the castle, sending dust and crumbling stone raining down over them. “The Elder one…”

Cassandra shared a glance with the Iron Bull and his lieutenant. They all nodded at each other, and the Seeker spoke up. “We’ll hold the doors and buy you some time.”

“What?” Ellana asked, looking from face to grim, determined face. “No...you’ll be killed. I won’t let you.”

Bull and Cassandra were already moving toward the door. “Make it quick, Dorian,” rumbled the Qunari. “We’ll give you as long as we can.”

The mage hesitated, but nodded, and turned his attention to the pendant. Ellana stomped an outraged foot. “Listen to me! I won’t let you throw your lives away like this!”

“We’re not throwing anything away,” Krem assured her, brushing his fingers across her back. She turned to him with tears in her eyes and he gently wiped one away with his thumb. “We’re giving ourselves a chance. If we die now, we die knowing that this future will never come to be.”

“No, Krem, you can’t--please!” she begged, clinging desperately to his arm. He gazed down at her, lyrium glowing red through the cracks in his skin. The agony was etched into the lines of his face and shone in his eyes like a dusty haze. He brought a dark hand up to her cheek and let it skim through her hair, pulling her close.

“El…” he whispered. “You can stop this. You have to. And if I have to die for you now to ensure this day never comes to pass…” He pressed his lips against hers, soft at first, and then more desperately. Warm breath left her lungs in a gasp of surprise, but she didn’t resist when his tongue parted her lips and his arms crushed her against his chest. Salty tears flavored his lips, and a quiet sob choked in his throat. “You have to go back. Stop Alexius and close the breach,” he said when he pulled back. A sad smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Ellana...you have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this…” He bent to kiss her again, stroking her hair and her back and the heat from his mouth burned her lips as she kissed him back, arms locked around his neck and standing on the very tips of her toes to push herself as close to him as she possibly could, their hearts pounding in tandem.

Then he pushed her toward Dorian, who held her around the middle, arms trapped beneath his even as she thrashed in protest and pleaded with her friends to stay. Krem turned away with tears shining in his eyes and joined Cassandra and The Iron Bull in pushing open the heavy castle doors. Drawing their weapons, they charged out, pulling the doors shut behind them without looking back. Leliana barred the entrance with heavy wooden beams and Dorian summoned a wall of ice to buy themselves a few extra minutes before he began to focus on the amulet.

Ellana knew that when those doors came crashing open, her friends would be dead.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all enjoyed this first chapter! If you'd like to yell and/or scream at me, you can find me on tumblr at fatale-distraction.tumblr.com  
> Please comment/message me with any concerns, constructive criticism, or unintelligible screeching you may have! I love hearing from my readers. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MOTHERFUCKIN DRAGON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain in the ass but its DONE and I can move on with my life

The Herald jerked awake, sweat sticking her hair and clothing to her flushed skin, as blisteringly hot as a woodfire though her body was wracked with shivers. A hand fluttered at her throat, parched and hoarse with screams. She turned to shake Sera awake, only to find herself alone in her small private bed at the Gull and Lantern inn. Trembling, cheeks still wet with tears, she spilled out from beneath the quilt and wrapped her wool cloak around her thin nightdress and padded down the stairs on silent feet. 

 

Sitting alone in a corner of the empty tavern, Krem nursed a hot mug of ale, turning the cup around in his hands with meditative focus. Faint purple bruises lingered under his eyes and his eyebrows were drawn together as he stared down into the amber liquor. It had been a monumentally strange day. The Herald had gotten sucked into that strange rift only to be spat back out seconds later, knocking him to the ground yet again. She’d gone in fairly tidy and come out disheveled and filthy, with tears smeared across her face, turning dirt to muddy streaks. Whatever had happened to her in that void haunted her. He could see the agony in her eyes when she looked at him, feel it wafting from her trembling body like a thick miasma.

There was a gentle creak as someone alighted from the last step of the stairs, and his eyes flickered up to meet hers across the room. The young man took one look at Ellana’s tear-stained cheeks and was on his feet. He crossed the room in a few strides, taking her into his arms and pressing her to his chest where he was certain she would hear his heart clawing its way out of his ribcage. He couldn’t bring himself to care if she noticed. The thought only made him clutch her tighter. 

“I can’t do it, Krem, I can’t…” she sobbed, her fingers knotted into the back of his tunic as he stroked her hair, unbound and tumbling down her shoulders in the most magnificent, swirling torrent of waves and curls he’d ever seen. “It’s too much...what if I can’t stop it? That horrible future…”

Krem hushed at the crying girl and guided her back to his table. He sat her down next to him and let her curl against his side with her knees hugged to her chest. “You’ve got the entire Inquisition at your back, and Andraste’s blessing besides,” he whispered.

A short laugh of cruel self-deprecation shook her shoulders. “But I don’t. Andraste hasn’t sent me or given me anything, much less her blessing. Look at me, Krem, I’m Dalish!” She shook his arm a little. “I have my own gods, I certainly don’t believe in the Maker. I’m not holy, I’m not blessed, I’m just some silly, stupid girl!” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and bled into the sleeve of Krem’s shirt. 

One hand continued to weave through her hair as the other rubbed circles against her back. “Your worship--” He began, but cut himself off and crooked a finger beneath her chin. Gently, he tilted her face upwards to his. Wide violet eyes met smoldering amber. “You may be a bit silly, but you’re anything but stupid. You’re smart and beautiful and compassionate. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

His words stammered to a halt. Her palm cupped his face and she brushed her lips ever so softly against his cheek, her palm cupping his face. He turned to follow her, longing to capture her lips even as she retreated.

“I saw you there…” her words whispered across Krem’s flushed cheek, heavy with tears. “In that rift in time...All that red lyrium...it got to you, corrupted your whole body and you were in so much agony. You died for me there, Cremisius, you and the others. I never want that to happen, I never want to be responsible for you getting hurt, or...or worse.”

His fingers over her mouth quieted her, the most gentle and tender of touches that ghosted across her lips like a dream. “El...I can’t promise I won’t get hurt...But I can promise that I will do everything I possibly can to make sure that future is prevented.” A dark finger brushed away the new tears that rolled down her round cheeks. “Anything. I’ll do anything to help you, all you have to do is ask, and I’ll be right there.”

She stared up at him quietly for a moment, eyes shining and misty, her fingers tracing idle lines down the smooth plane of his cheek. Her eyes lingered on his parted lips, her thumb tucked just beneath his bottom lip. His heart raced, pounding in his ears as he focused on her hooded eyes, watching the way she stared at him with what he desperately wanted to believe was longing. “Tell me another story,” she asked in a quiet voice, her eyes flickering up to meet his. Krem chuckled as she nestled in closer to him and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles of her other hand. “Tell me how you and Bull met.”

 

 

“Mythal’enaste!” cried Ellana, eyes bulging out of her head as she was ushered into one of the many grand meeting halls in Redcliffe’s castle. “You’re the friggin’ king!”

“BLOODY FRIGGIN’ HELL!” Sera screeched behind her before Cassandra could manage to clap a hand over her mouth. 

The Seeker growled against her ear as she forced both young elves into grand, cushioned chairs across a wide table from their royal guests, “What did I tell you? If you want to be here, you will behave yourself!”

Alistair only smiled and laughed, while his queen, frowned silently. “I know, it’s insane, isn’t it? Ah, ahem…” he sobered a bit at an exasperated glance from Anora. “Now, there is this nasty business of the mages striking a deal with a hostile foreign power and booting my uncle out of his own home...As though Redcliffe hasn’t seen enough troubles.”

“I assure you, Your Majesty, the mages will be dealt with.” 

“Cassandra, please…” interrupted Ellana. The Seeker sputtered with indignation, but ultimately allowed the young woman to take over. Alistair folded his hands on the table of Redcliffe’s war room and fixed the young woman with a smile that made her squirm in her seat. “Your Majesty…”

“Please, Alistair is fine, don’t you agree?”

“My lord…” Anora began.

“Come now, all these formalities...Let’s get this settled so I can move Uncle Teagan back into his home. Preferably in time for dinner…” The handsome king winked at Ellana, who gave him a small, nervous smile in return. “You were saying, my dear?”

“Erm...yes. The Inquisition has great need of these mages. We had hoped they would assist us in closing the Breach--the um...big ugly glowy thing in the sky?”

“Yes, I’ve seen it,” laughed Alistair. “So, the Inquisition would take responsibility for the mages? Will you be constructing a circle for them, or…?”

“No,” Ellana insisted. “They will be under our protection, but we will not be imprisoning them. They will be our allies.”

The king and queen exchanged a glance, his eyebrow raised, and her lips pursed. “Well, Miss Lavellan, I am glad to hear it,” he said, Anora nodding in agreement. “I don’t agree with this rebellion, but I also don’t believe that locking people away in towers is entirely the best way to go about things. If the Inquisition is taking responsibility for the mages…” He spread his hands and smiled. “It is, as they say, out of our hands.”

“Thank you, your...Alistair.” Ellana smiled sweetly at him. “The Inquisition appreciates your generosity.” 

The Queen excused herself with a meaningful look at her husband, ushering the rest of the Inquisition’s agents out of the room with the promise of tea and sweets. Ellana raised her brows at Alistair across the table as she was left alone with the king.

“I only wanted to say one last thing, in private…” he said in a low voice. “You...remind me of someone very close to me. Another elven woman with big ideas, a strong character, and...well, red hair.”

“The Hero of Ferelden?”

“The very same. Mahariel...she is an amazing woman.” Admiration shone in his eyes as he thought of her, the affection clear in his voice. “Frankly, if it weren’t for her and Anora working together, I’m sure I would have been...I don’t know, do they fire kings? No, I’m sure they’d just behead them if they were really that useless...At any rate…” He took Ellana’s small hand firmly in his. “You are in a unique position to make things considerably better for mages and for elves. We wanted you to know that you will have the Crown’s private support, although we cannot pledge anything to you publicly. Politics and whatnot.” Alistair waved a dismissive hand. “Now...let’s get some wine and cheese sent in. I’m half starved already.”

 

 

With the mages recruited and settled safely in Haven, a royal pardon secured, and Alexius imprisoned under the guard of some of the few templars who had joined the Inquisition, their attention turned to closing the Breach. Solas and Dorian joined in the war room discussions, along with the perfectly regal Vivienne de Fer, a former Grand Enchantress from Orlais who had joined their cause. Between the three mages, they constructed a solid plan of attack. The mages would focus their energy on the Breach itself, pushing the tear while Ellana’s mark knit the fabric of the Veil back together, like pinching a wound closed to be stitched up by a healer. 

It went off without a hitch, to the relief and surprise of everyone except the three mages, who all pompously insisted they knew it would work all along. Regardless, with the Breach safely sealed up, the only reasonable action to take next was to celebrate.  Fire pits were stacked high, a feast was prepared, drink flowed freely, and anyone who owned an instrument brought it out to play. People from all walks of life danced together to the merrily played tunes, laughed and shared stories and ale, and Ellana was pulled to the center of it all. Gifts were heaped upon her, everyone wanted a dance with the Herald, and her mug was refilled more times than she could count. Finally, she was able to slip away, searching through the crowds for one face in particular.

“There you are,” she said, breathing a relieved sigh when she found Cremisius leaning against a building, watching the revelry while a young woman attempted to engage him. She was pretty enough, but Krem didn’t seem interested. He responded to her politely enough, but his eyes lingered elsewhere, searching for another face. When Ellana’s voice reached his ears, he smiled, excusing himself and strolling up to meet her.

“Did you need something, your worship?” he asked, hesitating for a moment before offering her his arm. 

Ellana grinned and took it, linking their arms together and snuggling up close. “No,” she said with a shy flutter of her eyelids. “Not really. I hadn’t seen you all day, with all the fuss over the Breach. I...I wanted to see you.”

“You…” he covered his mouth with one hand, feeling the blush creeping up into his cheeks. “You wanted to see me? Why?”

“Because I missed you!” she sputtered. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Can’t I miss seeing my friend?”

Krem gave her a broad smile, dropping his hand back to his side. “Of course…” Friends. It was enough to hear her say that she’d missed him, but friends? Friends was a potential. “What d’you think you’ll do now that the Breach is closed up?” he asked with what he hoped came across as casual curiosity.

Ellana furrowed her brow a bit. “I’m not sure. The Inquisition will need me to stay on and help close up the other Rifts, I suppose. But I was hoping for some time off to look for my clan. They disappeared after the Conclave, and I haven’t heard from them since.”

“I’m sorry,” the Tevene murmured. “That must be awful.”

The elven girl sighed, eyes downcast, ears drooping just slightly. Krem longed to draw her into his arms and whisper gentle reassurances against those adorable ears, but just as he was working up the courage, she looked back up at him and smiled.

“But, let’s not talk about that right now,” she said quietly. “Tonight is a celebration. Come on, come dance with me,” And with that she began tugging him toward one of the bonfires that had been erected in the middle of town. 

Krem dug his heels into the snowy earth. He did not dance. Not unless he had a substantial amount of alcohol in his gut, and at that point it couldn’t really be called dancing. “N-no, I don’t think--” he began to babble as his footing slipped. He knew very well that Ellana was far stronger than she looked, but he was so rarely on the receiving end of it. Before he knew it, she’d dragged him closer to the fire, arranged his hands on her hips, and draped her arms around his neck. “El…”

She smiled up at him, then rested her head against his shoulder as they swayed together in awkward time to the soft rhythm of lutes, drums, and wooden pipes. He could feel the heat from the flames and the softness of her body pressed against him, the little puffs of breath against his neck that sent shivers down his spine. Most of the elven girls he knew were slim as willow branches. Ellana certainly didn’t compare to the buxom women who frequented the same bars and taverns as the Chargers who sold those luscious curves for a gold piece, or a handful of silvers if you were handsome enough. But as his grip tightened on the  surprisingly generous curve of her hips, his fingers sank quite nicely into pleasantly pliant flesh. Krem let himself be drawn into her soft skin, the gentle sway of her hips, the soft music and the conflicting press of hot and cold around the crackling fire lulling him into a comfortable trance.

That trance was broken when she lifted her head and brushed her lips softly against his, the merest whisper of a kiss that had his breath hitching in his throat, and every muscle in his body tensing as his nerves sung with joy. She gazed up at him with wide eyes that gleamed in the night like a cat’s, rosebud lips glistening so softly, so tempting. 

“You kissed me back there, you know,” she informed him with a cheeky little grin. “In that time...thingy.”

“I...I did?” he choked out.

Ellana nodded. “Oh, my yes. With tongue and everything. It was quite passionate.”

Krem’s face turned twenty different shades of red in about as many seconds. He chewed on his lips, avoiding her teasing eyes for a moment before looking back up to her. “Was it...good?”

A burst of laughter had him writhing with embarrassment until she tilted his chin to look at her. “It was very good,” said Ellana with a soft, sweet smile. 

A matching smile spread across his lips. He bit the inside of his cheek, then leaned down until their noses touched and their lips were a mere breath apart. “I think I might kiss you right here,” he whispered.

“Might?” she teased again. A chuckle rumbled his Krem’s chest. He felt her fingers tighten against the back of his neck and an anticipatory breath puffed out as their lips parted, so close they could taste each other on the air. With their eyes locked together under the moonlight, flames dancing across their cheeks, Ellana rose onto her toes and Krem lifted a tentative hand to brush a loose strand of hair away from her face.

The harsh, urgent clanging of the Chantry bell interrupted them. Ellana jerked around as Cullen bolted by, breathless, with a fierce expression sharpening his features. “Forces approaching!” His voice carried across all of Haven as he ran. “To arms!”

The couple exchanged worried glances as they reluctantly separated. “I’ll get the Chargers ready to go where ever you need them,” promised Krem, squeezing her hand before bringing it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles before they both spun away and ran. 

Ellana followed Cullen down to the village gates, shut and barred against the oncoming force. She could see their torches all across the mountain range, the shadowy forms of some unknown enemy marching ever closer through the snowy night. 

“One watchguard reporting,” he was telling Cassandra and the other two advisors as the Herald approached. “It’s a massive force, the bulk is still over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked, watching as more and more soldiers marched down from the peaks.

“None,” replied Cullen.

“None?”

As a sense of foreboding sunk in her stomach like a rock, Ellana’s attention was drawn by a strange energy swirling through the air on the other side of the fence. A blast of heat shook the gates, a strike from a trebuchet, perhaps. A man screamed with a bloody gurgle and the energy grew closer, more intent and desperate. Then a voice spoke.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” It was a young voice, strained and morose, too much sadness there for its youth.

Ellana hurried forward without another thought, even as Cullen made a grab at her tunic to pull her back, and flung the doors open. She fell back a step at the sight of a gargantuan, halberd-wielding man in heavy armor advancing toward her, but he fell forward with a thud to reveal a thin, pale young man with a pair of bloody daggers dangling from long fingers. His leathers were worn, patched, and threadbare, and the brim of a large, floppy hat covered most of his face. Ignoring a squeal of protest from Josephine, Ellana moved toward him, extending her hand.

“I’m Cole,” the young man said with gentle urgency, clasping her hand in his. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you...you probably already know.”

“Well, I had a suspicion…” she said, glancing at the ever-advancing army, then back up at him. The boy towered over her, as tall and slim as a beanpole. “What’s going on?”

“The templars come to kill you.” He leaned close to whisper the words, and Ellana caught sight of melancholy eyes like blue ice. 

“Templars?!” exploded Cullen, storming forward. Cole dodged away behind the much smaller woman, hands up in defense against the Commander’s rage. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” whispered Cole, peeking over his protector’s shoulder. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” With gentle hands, he turned Ellana toward the mountains and pointed a pale, straight finger. “There…”

Her eyes followed his direction, and Cullen stepped up next to them. High above, surveying their army like a pair of kings, were two men armored entirely in what appeared to be pure red lyrium. One had greasy black hair, a face like a rat’s, and an impossibly long sword, and the other could hardly be called human. His face was lined and scarred, and it seemed that the lyrium grew straight out of his bones, melding with his flesh like some obscene exoskeleton.

“I know that man…” Cullen muttered. “But this Elder One…”

“He is very angry that you took his mages,” the young man told Ellana.

“Well...shit. Cullen, a plan?”

“Haven is no fortress,” he said grimly. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.” Cullen pointed her toward the trebuchets, then turned to rally his troops. “Mages! You have sanction to engage them! That is Samson. He will not make it easy! Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” The responding cry was deafening. Every soldier, mage, and civilian brandished weapons, ready to fight for their commander, and for their Herald.

 

Ellana was already heading for the trebuchets. She didn’t know much about siege equipment, but she knew how to turn a winch and pull a lever. The soldiers would have to do the rest. Cremisius caught her by the arm on the way up the incline and informed her that he’d rallied up every man and woman willing and able to hold a sword before bolting off to see what else could be done. Ellana smiled after him, pride rising in her chest. The Lieutenant was resourceful and brave, he know how to take the initiative, and the way his skin practically glowed in the snowy, moonlit night, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead...well that wasn’t half bad either.

She tore her attention away from the handsome Tevinter and forced her focus back to the crisis at hand. Ellana jogged up a slight incline toward the trebuchets where she was hailed by one of the technicians. They were besieged by a number of enemy soldiers, mages, several deformed by the glow of red lyrium. The Herald and her team kept the incoming forces occupied as they came over the walls and swarmed around from the mountainside until the trebuchet was ready to fire. When the cry went up from the technicians, Ellana broke away from the fight, shouldering her bow and throwing her weight against the lever. The wooden arm was released, and a flaming boulder was flung out into the night. Panting from the fight, she followed the trajectory of the missile and watched as it crashed just below the peak of a snow-covered mountain far in the distance. She whooped joyfully as snow and rock collapsed, sliding down onto the oncoming army in a churning, deadly mass. But the victory was short-lived as a dark, hulking mass swooped down over the village, kicking up a gust of wind that nearly knocked the Herald off her feet. The thick, leathery flap of a broad wingspan was followed by a screech that could shatter solid stone. A sudden fiery blast turned the trebuchet into a pile of splinters and ashes, throwing the small elven woman a good several yards. Stumbling to her feet in the snow, Ellana looked up, violet eyes wide with horror, and beheld the first high dragon she’d ever seen. 

“Fuck,” she breathed as the buffeting wind faded around her.

“Was that a bloody dragon?!” Sera shrieked, helping Ellana to her feet. Solas stood behind them, peering after the creature with suspicious eyes. 

“There’s something...wrong with it...almost like it’s Blighted, but…”

“Impossible,” countered Cassandra with a hasty motion. “The last Blight was only ten years ago.”

“Let’s find Cullen,” the Herald said with a breathless gasp. “He’ll...he’ll have some sort of plan. He must.”

 

“At this point...just make them work for it,” was Cullen’s dismal suggestion. Civilian and soldier alike were summoned to  retreat into the Chantry. There was no hope of fighting off a dragon, not in a defenseless village like Haven. The Chantry was the only stone building with a deep enough foundation to offer a temporary challenge to the beast, but it wouldn’t hold for long. 

Dorian had joined up with the Bull and his Chargers, rounding up the townspeople and herding them to safety like bleating sheep, bringing word from Ellana to use her foul-tempered Hart to carry the infirm.

“How the hell does she expect anyone to get that beast to cooperate?!” Krem said in exasperation, voice ragged from the smoke and cinder drifting through the air. “I’d rather take my chance with the dragon!”

Dorian was equally frustrated. “How should I know?! She told me ‘just tell Winston I sent you’, like the stupid bloody nag would buy that nonsense!”

With a strangled groan, Krem whirled away and took off for the stables. When he arrived Winston was screeching and bucking inside his stall, trying to break out. Each time Krem reached for his bridle, the creature would swing his heavy antlers and hoot angrily, stomping and kicking the whole time. “Damn you, you stupid beast!” Krem shouted at him. “I’m trying to get you out! Ellana--” 

Oddly, at the sound of his mistress’ name, the hart stopped his tantruming, and gazed at Krem with large, attentive eyes. Stammering in surprise, the young man reached for the bridle again. Ser Winston hooted his displeasure and danced away with a nervous flick of his tail, but didn’t nip or toss his head. “Ellana sent me for you...you understand?” He insisted, making one more grab for the reins. This time, the hart allowed himself to be caught and led from the stall, complaining, but obedient.

When he returned with the shaggy beast in tow, Dorian gave him a look of unconcealed surprise, but wasted no time hefting the elderly and infirm onto Winston’s broad back while Krem kept a firm hand on the reins. “You’re a weird creature…” he told the hart.

Ser Winston nipped at his nose with an accusatory honk.

 

 

The Herald and her team were the last ones to make it into the Chantry. Roderick, who had berated and scorned Ellana from the beginning, held the doors open for them, clutching a deep wound in his side as he waved them in. The man stumbled and nearly fell with a pained gasp, only to be caught by the pale boy from the front gates.

“He tried to stop a Templar,” Cole told her as she moved to help him. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

“What a charming boy…” the Chancellor said with careless sarcasm. 

“Please take care of him, Cole…” insisted Ellana as Cullen jogged up to her with a strained expression. The boy nodded and carefully sat Roderick down against a column. 

“Herald,” the Commander cried. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I saw an archdemon,” Cole said in an ominous tone. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” snapped Cullen. “It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

Again, Cole spoke up. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

Cullen and her companions all turned to stare at Ellana, but she hardly noticed. Her world had shrunk down to her and Cole alone, as if they were in a vacuum. “Why?” she asked with a soft sob. “Why does he want me? What could he want from me so badly that he would burn the village and everyone in it to the ground?”

The boy shook his head and spoke as if in a trance. “I don’t know. He’s too loud...it hurts to hear him…He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway...I don’t like him…” his voice broke at the end, almost the gentle, pleading cry of a child.

Ellana held his hands tightly in hers, but Cullen made an absurd noise of exasperation. “You don’t  _ like _ \--?! Ugh. My lady, there are no tactics to make this survivable,” he said, dismissing the boy’s strange comments and kneeling by Ellana’s side. “The only thing that slowed them down was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

Her brow furrowed. “But...we’re over-run...to hit the enemy, we’d end up burying ourselves alive…”

“We’re dying,” admitted Cullen. “But we can decide how. Many don’t get to make that choice.” 

Violet eyes widened in horrified understanding. She glanced around at her gathered companions, behind her at where Krem was helping an elderly man, pouring water down his soot-choked throat. Their eyes met, faces sweaty and stained with ash, and she felt a pang in her heart. She should have kissed him. She shouldn’t have danced around it like a shy little maiden, she should have thrown herself into his arms and kissed him until they were both breathless. She might never have that chance now. He gave her a tense, hopeless grimace.

At this point...make them fight for it.

 

 

Chancellor Roderick had spoken up with a plan to evacuate the Chantry; a long forgotten path through the back that would take them far enough away to avoid the worst of the landslide. Ellana, accompanied by her friends and two engineers to load the siege machinery, charged back out into the smoldering remains of Haven. They fought their way back to the trebuchets, carving through countless soldiers sprouting red lyrium from their bodies, just as she’d seen in the time Rift at Redcliffe. Each one was more deformed and monstrous than the last, and when they finally reached the siege field, they were faced with a behemoth creature that was more lyrium than human, with one massive club-like appendage and huge spikes of pulsating lyrium sticking out of its hunched back like the spines of a quillback. It took every bit of their remaining strength to fight the thing off, and with its dying breath, it struck Ellana in the stomach with its club-arm and hurled her backwards against the trebuchet just as the aiming mechanism locked into place. Before she could even recover, the dragon made another pass over them, blasting the ground with a long, continuous stream of molten flame. 

“Go!” the Herald shouted to her companions, crawling away to avoid the fire. “Now! Get out of here!” 

Separated from her by the blistering line of burning earth, they were left with little choice but to flee. Solas gave her a desperate look over his shoulder as he ran, pushing Sera ahead of him. Ellana gave him a small nod, clutching her stomach as she struggled to her feet.

Through the flames behind her, a voice called. “Enough!” The Elder One emerged, hideously disfigured with lyrium that seemed fused to him, growing through his skin and bones like a disease. His body had every appearance of emaciation, yet he moved with unbridled strength. Behind her, the dragon had landed, galloping toward her with an ear-splitting screech. “Pretender,” the Elder One boomed at her. “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” 

“What are you?” gasped Ellana raggedly, sweat and tears dripping from her chin as she hunched over, one hand braced against the trebuchet. “Why are you doing this?”

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was. Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The will that is Corypheus!” he cried, then extended one long fingered, clawed hand and pointed at the Herald. “You will kneel.” 

Ellana gritted her teeth. This thing styled itself as some sort of god, yet here it was, flesh and blood. What sort of god would walk among mortals like this? What sort of god burned the world to ashes to chase after one insignificant elf? No god that she would kneel to, that was for damn certain. “Fuck. Off,” she bit out.

A sudden, sharp pain burned through her whole body, centering in her left hand. The creature, Corypheus, held a strange orb aloft in one hand, vibrant red energy emanating from it as he extended his taloned hand toward her. “I am here for the anchor,” he hissed, as though he had read her very thoughts. “The process of removing it begins now. It is your fault, ‘Herald’,” he went on as she screamed out in pain and clutched at her wrist. “You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.” Another shock of agony crackled through her as she gazed in helpless horror at her hand. The mark glowed, her wrist strained and cracked, and her hand felt as though it were about to be pulled clean off. The Elder One was still talking. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at Rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens. And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!”

Ellana could hear the dragon pacing behind her, feel the heat of its breath on her back, the rumble of its growl as it shuddered through her bones. She glared up at Corypheus, her breathing labored as she tried to resist what ever power he exerted over her that drove her to the ground, that threatened to tear her apart. “Are you hard of hearing?” she spat. “I said fuck. OFF. Take the damn Anchor if you want it, just stop this foolish chaos!”

“This chaos will empower me,” responded the so-called god. “And ensure we no longer beg at the feet of the invisible.” He marched forward and picked her up by the wrist, dangling her several feet off the ground like a cloth-limbed ragdoll. “Once, I breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person,” he went on, squeezing her wrist until she was sure it would shatter. “I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, girl, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty!”

With that, he threw her aside, her back slammed into the trebuchet and her bow snapped in two. She sank to the ground with a strangled groan of pain, struggling to her knees with arms that had turned into jelly. 

“The anchor is permanent…” growled Corypheus. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling. He advanced on her, flanked by his dragon, its teeth dripping in a hungry grin. Ellana glanced around for a weapon, her eyes falling on a simple iron sword nearby. She fumbled for it, the weight unfamiliar in her hands. “So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation - and god - it requires.” 

Her breathing shaky and labored, Ellana’s eyes caught sight of a flare in the distance. The people of Haven had made it above the treeline. They were safe. She breathed a sigh of relief. A smile spread her lips. 

“And you.” Falon’Din’s ass, was this pompous pile of rubbish still talking? “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.” 

The elf straightened up, brandishing the sword in front of her. “You expect me to fight,” she said with a breathless laugh. She felt exhilarated, triumphant even. The people were safe, and she could end this. “But that’s not why I kept you talking. I don’t even know how to use a sword.” With that, she swung the weapon down on the trebuchet chain and took off running as it shattered, releasing the arm and sending a boulder soaring through the air in a great arc, exploding against the snow-caked side of the mountain. A glance over her shoulder showed her that Corypheus and his dragon, merely inconvenienced by her ploy, had taken to the skies and fled, his troops either caught up in the avalanche or retreated by now. That only Ellana attempting to outrun the flood of snow bearing down on her. A rock turned her heel, and she fell, her whole world turning white and cold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the new chapter! If you'd like to yell and/or scream at me, you can find me on tumblr at fatale-distraction.tumblr.com  
> Please comment/message me with any concerns, constructive criticism, or unintelligible screeching you may have! I love hearing from my readers. <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Skyhold!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the lack of update last week! Life exploded a bit and I didn't even have half of this chapter done by the time Friday rolled around.

It was cold, dark, and wet, and for the first time, those were the least of the worries weighing on Krem’s mind. Torch in hand, he made another sweep of the landscape before him, straining his eyes for the slightest patch of red in a world of endless, swirling white. It had been hours since the Herald had chased off The Elder One and his Archdemon, triggering another avalanche and risking her own life to give everyone else a chance to escape. The last he’d seen of her, she’d been nearly a speck in the distance, facing off against the massive dragon alone.

Dorian and Sera were despondent. Cassandra was mad with worry and guilt, blaming herself for letting the Herald go off on her own to fight. Vivienne and Solas tended to the wounded as best they could, talking together in low voices. The Bull, Blackwall, and the three advisors were all out searching for Ellana, along with the rest of the Chargers, but their hopes were beginning to wane. 

Just a bit more, Cremisius thought to himself, trudging further away from camp. He could hear the others calling for her, their voices carried away on the wind. He fought to keep his feet moving, fought to stay hopeful. They would find her. They must.

That was when he saw the faintest flicker of green, several yards away. He squinted, moving after it through knee-deep snow. It sparked and flickered again, like a faltering heartbeat, even more weak than the last.

“Commander!” he shouted, picking up his pace as best he could. There. A tangle of red hair haloed by the discharge of the mark on her hand. The Herald. Ellana. “Commander Rutherford!” Krem screamed again. The responding cry went up just as he fell to his knees at her side, gathering Ellana’s inert body into his arms. She was freezing cold and lifeless as a rag doll. Ice clung to her hair and eyelashes, and her face was bright red and somehow burning hot when the rest of her felt like a block of ice. 

“She’s here!” Cullen skidded to a halt next to them and immediately shirked off his fur-lined coat. Krem helped him wrap it tightly around the tiny elven woman and the two men lifted her up with great care.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” moaned Cassandra. “Is she alive?”

“Barely,” Krem said. “She needs medical attention NOW. We’ll need any blankets that can be spared, and have bricks or rocks warmed in the fires as well. Her body temperature needs to be raised and the fever sweated out.” It was easy to step into the role of Lieutenant. Easier to bark orders than to consider the possibility of losing her. 

 

It was stifling hot, yet Ellana couldn’t stop shivering. Blankets weighed heavily on her chest, but she couldn’t raise her arms to push them away. A gentle hand slipped beneath her neck and helped tilt her head up. Cool water touched her lips and she drank it down greedily, feeling it wind an icy path all the way down her throat. She sighed with relief and heard a deep, quiet chuckle as she was laid back down.

“The fever is breaking,” a familiar voice said in a quiet baritone. “She will live.”

“Thank the Maker,” a woman’s heavily accented voice sighed.

“Thank the Lieutenant.” It was Solas, she realized distantly, his soft hands familiar on her wrist, taking her pulse and inspecting the mark that marred her left hand. “If he hadn’t found her when he did, we may not have recovered her at all.”

“The Commander has assured me the boy will be properly compensated, if we ever find our way out of this mess,” the second voice said. “Coin, or a position within the Inquisition...though unless I am mistaken, I believe he would prefer to be thanked by the Lady Herald…”

Solas laughed quietly again. “I believe you are correct.”

“Tevinter has not been kind to your people...but this boy, he is not so prideful of his homeland. Not like that altus. Still. I wonder if encouraging them is wise.”

Ellana could hear the frown in his voice when Solas responded. “It is not our concern who the Herald chooses to spend her time with,” he said with a stern, put polite cut. “There are worse things than flirtatious mercenary boys in store for Miss Lavellan. Let her take her joys where she can.”

“Of course,” the woman demurred. “My only concern is for her reputation.”

“It should be for her heart,” interrupted Solas. “Please excuse me, Mother Giselle. The Herald is out of danger, and I must tend to the wounded.”

Ellana managed to rouse herself not long after she heard the tent flap slither shut, her throat still parched, but the shivers abated. The Revered Mother helped her to sit up and hold a cup to her lips, then dabbed the sweat from the young woman’s brow with a damp cloth. 

“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Much better,” said Ellana with a grateful smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“It is you we should be thanking,” Mother Giselle replied. “Were it not for you, we would all be dead. The Maker has great plans for you, child. Andraste has returned you to us twice now from certain death.”

Ellana frowned. “But I wasn’t dead.”

“That is not what the people see. They see a woman who survived the explosion at the Conclave when no one else did, a woman pulled from the Fade by the hand of Andraste herself. They see a woman who faced an archdemon alone, who brought down a mountain in face of it, at her own risk and lived. They see the Herald of Andraste.”

“All due respect, ma’am,” the elf said a bit tearsely. “But your Chantry has done unspeakably abominable things to my people in the name of your Maker and his bride, in spite of the kindness Andraste showed toward them in her time. You’ll forgive me, I’m sure, if I’m reluctant to accept the mantle of a religion that has actively persecuted my people and continues to do so. I have my own gods. If any gods are to be thanked for my survival, it is they.” With that, suddenly fevered with anger, she stood on unsteady legs and made her way toward the tent flap. As she pulled it aside, she turned back to the chastized old Mother. “I appreciate your support and all you’ve done for us, Mother Giselle. But do not speak of Tevinter’s evils toward the elves without first looking to your own.”

With that, she fled the suffocating warmth of the tent and plunged into the frost mountain air, wishing she had thought to take a shawl. After a performance like that, she couldn’t return, so she made her way toward one of the many camp fires instead. She spotted a vaguely familiar head of white-blonde hair at the same time as the other woman’s eyes lighted on her. The taller elf smiled and nudged the man she was talking to, her arm around the waist of the dark-haired, scowling elf who’d assisted them at Redcliffe. The man turned, and Ellana felt her heart soar.

“Your worship?” Cremisius said, moving toward her. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be--”

His words were cut off when the smaller woman flew at him arms locking around his neck, her toes barely brushing the snowy ground as her lips collided awkwardly with his. A grunt of surprise was dragged from Krem’s throat as he caught her instinctively around the waist. Behind him there was a whistle, some light applause, and a quiet, amused “oh my” from Dalish.

Krem’s body had stopped functioning entirely for the few seconds the Herald hung from his shoulders with her mouth pressed against his, and by the time she dropped to her feet, he was on the verge of turning purple.

“Breathe, idiot!” the dark-skinned elf barked in a thick Orlesian accent.

Krem sucked in a ragged gasp of air, still thrown off-guard by Ellana’s ambush. “I...y-your worship..?” he said shakily. 

She beamed up at him, her arms still around his neck, his hand still at her waist. “You saved my life,” she breathed. “I heard Solas talking. He said you found me in the snow and carried me back; that I’d have died were it not for you.”

The Lieutenant gave a nervous cough. “Well, Commander Rutherford and I carried you back.” 

“Kiss her again!” one of the Chargers yelled, and the rest cried out in boisterous agreement. 

Krem spun on them, red in the face, though he couldn’t seem to make himself take his hands off the gentle curve of the Herald’s hips. “Knock it off, the lot of you-- Stitches, don’t encourage them-- and you, put that damn horn away-- where did you even get that?!” he demanded. With a growl of irritation, he led the Herald away by the hand in search of a more quiet fire, Ellana waving a cheerful goodbye to his misbehaving troops. The rowdy mercs shouted a chorus of farewells and bawdy suggestions after the pair.

“Sorry about that,” Krem said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mercs, you know?”

She giggled. “I didn’t mind.”

They sat themselves down at a less obnoxious campfire, close enough that their knees touched and Krem could smell the medicinal herbs whose scents still clung to her clothes and hair. “You should be in bed resting,” he scolded, as glad as he was to see her up and about, and most importantly, alive. “You’ll end up even worse off.”

“Solas healed me up,” she said defensively. “I feel much better, really. I needed to get out of that stuffy tent and...and away from Mother Giselle for a bit.” 

Krem have her an understanding nod. “She’s a good woman,” he said. “But if I wanted an overbearing religious woman scolding me all day I’d have stayed in Trevis with my mum.”

Ellana laughed. “She is an asset. But she doesn’t seem to understand that I’m Dalish.” She wiggled her ears for emphasis and Krem’s heart nearly stopped. “No one does, actually...it’s starting to piss me off.” She frowned.

“I bet…” Krem said with a sympathetic look, still trying to recover from the stroke she’d given him with those sweet little ears. “I can’t imagine. I’m Andrastian myself, but...there’s more than one truth in the world, you know? One of your gods could just as easily be responsible as Andraste. Or maybe it was just dumb stupid luck.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s dumb stupid luck,” she said, laughing again. “Or else, it’s definitely not any benevolent god’s doing. This Herald business is as much a curse as a blessing.” She looked down at the mark on her left hand. “Fen’Harel enansal…”

“Who did what now?”

“Fen’Harel enansal,” she repeated with a bit of a laugh. “Fen’Harel’s blessing. He’s a rebel god, a trickster. He does nothing that does not also benefit him. His gifts are always double-edged swords. The Dread Wolf’s blessing is a curse…”

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Ellana looked up to find Solas standing politely nearby. “Ma serannas da’len,” he said with a pained, apologetic smile. “Your advisors have need of you. When you’ve finished your business with them, I would like a word in private as well…”

“Of course, hahren,” she said, getting to her feet with a hand from Krem. With a backwards smile at the Lieutenant, Ellana trailed after her companion toward the tent where her advisors and Cassandra were arguing loudly. He watched the Herald try for a moment to mediate, aching to go to her and make them listen, but it wasn’t his place. He was a hireling. He had no right, no authority to demand the attention of anyone.

Then the Revered Mother was trudging toward them through the snow, commanding their silence with the words of a familiar hymn. Ellana turned in surprise, her stunned, grateful expression turning to one of confusion as others took up the song as well.

“The Dawn Will Come,” they sang. It was poignant enough for the hopelessness of their situation. Displaced, homeless and lost in the frigid mountains with the injured and dead piling up. It brought hope to those who knew and sang the words, but Krem’s eyes weren’t on the faces of Cullen or Leliana as their voices joined the rest, nor even the derisive looks of Dalish and Skinner, cuddled together defensively in front of the Chargers’ fire. They were on Ellana, the way she shrank into herself like a cornered fawn. It was Solas who touched her shoulder with a dark expression and guided her away to a lone torch which he lit with a wave of his hand. The pair of elves stood close, speaking in quiet, intimate voices in a shared language of Dalish and trade, meaningful glances and understood inflections. The girl leaned on his arm, looking up at the mage with admiration in her wide eyes as they spoke. 

A pang of jealousy drove through Krem like a hot poker. It may have been his own lips she’d kissed only moments ago, but there was something between that hedge mage and Ellana that Krem felt he couldn’t hope to match. He tore his eyes away from the scene and headed back to the Chargers. He didn’t want to see how the interaction played out.

“Long face, Krem Puff?” Dalish asked when he returned. Skinner had already crawled away into their tent, as had most of the others, but the blonde elf lingered by the fire. Her glinting eyes watched him approach, and she scooted aside to make room for him on her log. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course.”

Krem sighed and paused to collect his thoughts. “Do you ever feel like...like you’d rather be with someone you can relate to? Another Dalish girl rather than Skinner?”

“Why?” she said with a merry laugh. “Has the Herald asked about me?”

The Lieutenant aimed a half-hearted punch at her. “No. Just...she and that apostate...Solas? They seem so close. They’re always together, and sometimes it’s like they’re off in their own world.”

His friend hummed thoughtfully. “Well...he knows an awful lot about our people’s history. That’s real important to her, aye? And I’ve heard her call him hahren, too. Not sayin’ ye’ve nothing to worry about, but she’d not likely call him her teacher if there were sparks.” 

Krem wasn’t convinced. “I don’t think teachers are supposed to look at their students the way he does.”

“Doesn’t matter how he looks at her,” Dalish said with a shrug. “Matter how she looks at you.” She pulled him in close with an affectionate arm around his shoulders and batted her eyelashes up at him. “All doe-eyed and fluttery like some virginal maiden. She likes you; doesn’t matter about the hedge mage. An’ ye know?” She straightened back up again. “What I like best about Skinner, ‘sides her tits, you know, is how different our backgrounds are. We never run out of things to talk about, experiences to compare...It’s  _ interesting. _ Now, then.” The lanky woman stood up, dusted herself off, and gave Krem a fond pat on the head. “Give us twenty minutes or so before ye come to bed. Unless ye’d like to join in?” The elf arched a suggestive brow at him with a casualty that suggested it wasn’t the first time the invitation had been extended, or accepted.

“Nah,” Krem grunted, batting her hand away. He looked toward the Herald again and saw that she’d stepped away from Solas and was being ambushed with hugs from Sera and Dorian. The apostate lingered by his artificial fire, watching Ellana closely with narrow, intent eyes, but her attention was fully held by her over-enthusiastic friends. “I think I’m good…”

 

 

“I hate this bloody fucking snow…” Krem grumbled, shivering violently. 

“Join the club,” muttered Dorian. 

“Maybe if you covered up more than one tit you’d be more cozy.”

“I’ll ‘tit’ you, you dirty little mouse!” the altus swiped harmlessly at Sera, who skittered away with a snorting laugh. Cremisius found he rather agreed with her. 

The Herald sighed. “I’m so glad all my friends are getting along so well.” 

Krem had to laugh at that. He was glad to be counted among Ellana’s friends, as odd a bunch as they made. Sera didn’t have a drop of respect for the Dalish in general, and the two butted heads often, as Ellana held the culture and history of her people in high regard. Otherwise, they got along marvellously, both being impulsive, curious, and quite silly. Dorian was more often than not more content to watch their folly than join in, although he had a surprisingly good humor as well. A Tevinter altus and a young Dalish woman, however, made for a far more unlikely friendship, especially with Krem added into the mix. Bull had insinuated himself into their group through Krem, to the distress of the mage, although the two elven girls were more than welcoming of the Qunari and his truly awful puns. Varric tagged along with their circle as well, providing endless tales of hilarity to rival even Krem’s, and even gave Bull a run for his money with bad jokes. Vivienne would make her presence known with scathing comments, more than happy to join Dorian in critiquing Solas’ sense of fashion. The apostate had a sharp enough wit to meet them both jab for jab and then some, as well as enough good humor to join in the merriment with a few shockingly hilarious comments. Cassandra and Blackwall remained closer to the three advisors, but occasionally they would all join in as well. The only person who hadn’t put in an appearance since the night Haven fell was the mysterious young man, Cole, and Ellana couldn’t seem to stop fretting over him.

“I just hope he’s okay…” she said for the millionth time. 

“I’m sure he is,” sighed Dorian with unconcealed exasperation. “The boy seemed to be capable of looking out for himself. I wouldn’t let it worry your poor little heart anymore.” 

Krem wanted to comfort her; to wrap his arms around her and assure her that things would be alright. But they hadn’t really spoken much since Haven. She’d kissed him, just ever so lightly, and told him that future-Krem had kissed her, and quite passionately, apparently. He wasn’t entirely certain how to feel about that, and he didn’t want to press Ellana to talk about that awful rift in time. Then she’d thrown herself into his arms after he’d found her in the snow and kissed him rather enthusiastically on the lips. Krem wasn’t sure where that left them. He replayed each scene in his mind over and over again, trying to keep the memories fresh, and wracking his brain for a way to bring it up.

“Don’t bother,” was Dorian’s advice, offered while eavesdropping on a conversation between Krem and the Bull. “Just kiss her. Ladies love that kind of spontaneity.”

“And what exactly would you know about what women like?” he snipped with a bit more acid than he’d meant.

Luckily, his fellow Tevinter wasn’t so easily offended. “Ha! Get the Minrathous gossip pages all the way out here, do you? Well, I’ll have you know,” he said, flinging an arm around Krem’s neck and pulling him uncomfortably close. “Every single word is entirely true.”

“Uhhh….”

“ _ Every  _ word?” Bull asked, sparing Krem from having to respond, or explain the nervous blush that sparked in his cheeks. “Suddenly my interest is piqued…”

The mage flicked an appraising eye over the burly Qunari, then pursed his lips and fell back to join arms with the two elven women. Neither of the Chargers were fooled by the seemingly icy response. Try as he might, Dorian couldn’t conceal the light tinge that rose in his cheeks.

‘Just kiss her’. He made it sound so simple, the bastard. Of course, for him it probably was just that simple. He was a man of means, with a powerful family and seemingly boundless confidence. He could get away with so much more than a lowly mercenary like Krem. 

 

 

 

The keep Solas led them to, their new home, had been a breathtaking sight from the snowy peak of a far off mountain. Soaring battlements, awe-inspiring architecture, and a spacious courtyard; it was magnificent. Unfortunately, up close, it was more like a magnificent mess. The original foundations were stable for the most part, but Rocky took one look at the place and could point out exactly where less skilled hands had added on, and those sections were crumbling, unstable, falling apart around the sturdy skeleton left behind so long ago. 

“What a dump,” Sera scoffed as the Inquisition made its weary way through the portcullis and into the overgrown courtyard. “We’re worse off than when we were in Haven. ‘Least it had roofs.” 

“Well, Haven is currently buried under hundreds of tons of snow,” said Cullen, clapping the girl on the shoulder. “Roof or no, it beats the alternative.”

Ellana wandered the courtyard in awe, letting her fingers trail across the stone walls as she took in the battlements, the clinging ivy that curled and climbed across every surface. Krem watched her move from one wall to the next, to a pile of crumbling stone overgrown with moss, to the remains of a statue so abused by time and exposure it was impossible to tell what it might have been so long ago. Her hair had come undone during her flight from Haven, and without pins or a proper brush, her only option had been a long, loose braid that fell past her waist and swung behind her like a pendulum as she walked.

“What d’you think, your worship?” he asked, coming up behind her as she admired something that might have once been a carven inlay. That braid of hers was tempting him, particularly the way the shorter strands formed wispy curls around her round cheeks. 

Ellana glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Solas says that this place has stood since before the time of Arlathan,” she said in a breathless hush. “My people built this place, Krem, they lived in castles! Can you imagine it?”

He looked around at the crumbling stone and rotting beams that cluttered the courtyard. “Well...I’m sure it looked much nicer back then…” Krem coughed into his hand. “You know, you’ll be living here now. An elf living in a castle that isn’t a servant or a slave...That’s a big middle finger to Tevinter if I ever saw one,” he said with a grin.

Ellana smiled back, laughing. “Yeah... Fuck you, Tevinter! I have a castle.”

Behind them, Cassandra cleared her throat. The Herald spun around, nearly whipping Krem in the face with the end of her braid, and looked quiet sheepish. The Seeker could barely surprise a smirk as she beckoned the young woman away. “‘Fuck you, Tevinter’ indeed…” she said with an amused chuckle.

The Seeker led her across the courtyard and up worn stone stairs, leaving Krem to haul supplies and begin disposing of the more manageable bits of rubble with the rest of the soldiers. Sera always spoke of the ‘little people’, the servants under the heels of their masters, the grunts thrown out like fodder on the front lines. Krem knew well enough that he was one of them; would always be one of them. The Inquisition didn’t feel that way. Cullen cared about his troops, Josephine cared about the hired help, and Ellana cared about the people anyone else would have forgotten. He could still see her casting her gaze around, and knew she was searching for the young man she’d told him about, even though no one else seemed concerned about his whereabouts. 

But that sense of belonging, of mattering to even the highest levels of the Inquisition didn’t do much to bridge the gaping social canyon that seemed to be spreading between himself and Ellana. She grew more idolized by the day, her importance soaring with each feat she accomplished, no matter how small. She’d escaped an explosion that destroyed miles of land and hundreds of people, faced off against a dragon and some kind of demented demi-god, survived an avalanche, and now she’d led her people to their new haven. To Skyhold. As much as it pained him to think of, Cremisius was certain the day would come when she no longer had time for their silly banter or poorly restrained flirting. 

 

 

When Ellana came to the first platform of the stairs leading into the Keep, overlooking the courtyard, she stumbled in surprise. Every last member of the Inquisition, no matter how miniscule their role, was gathered below, gazing up at the elven woman silhouetted by the setting sun behind her. There was a roaring in her ears that drowned out Cassandra’s voice next to her. The young woman turned slowly from the silent crowd to see Leliana standing nearby with solemn purpose written on her face. In her hands was a long, wide blade wrought of silverite with gold dragons spiralling up the hilt. With a jolt, she realized what was happening. 

“Y-you want me to lead the Inquisition?” she repeated. She must have heard Cassandra wrong. The Seeker should be the one leading them, after all, Herald or no. But the encouraging gleam in Cassandra’s carnelian eyes could hardly be mistaken, nor could the sword Leliana was offering to her. “You’re offering this to an elf? Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?”

The Seeker gave her a funny sort of smile. “I would be terrified handing this power to anyone, but I believe it is the only way. They’ll follow you,” she explained with unwavering confidence. “To them, being an elf shows how far you have risen, how it must have been by Andraste’s hand. What it means to you, how you lead us: that is for you alone to determine.”

Ellana took an uneasy step forward, her shaking hands wrapping around the hilt of the daunting blade. She stared at it, the honed edge shining in the orange light. Her head spinning, she remembered then what the King had told her at Redcliffe. She had a chance. Like the Hero Mahariel, a woman from her own mother’s clan, she had the chance to make Thedas a better place for elves. For mages. For people in general. As Inquisitor she would have the power to influence Thedosian politics; she would be a symbol of hope to her people. Ellana knew she had to accept the offer. She just wasn’t sure if she had what it took to effect that chance. But she had to try. If Mahariel and King Alistair believed she could do it…

“I will lead us against Corypheus…” said Ellana with determination, though her voice quavered. “I will be an ambassador for my people. I am an elf, but I stand for Thedas. The Inquisition fights for all.”

Cassandra nodded with a relieved smile. “Have our people been told?” she cried down into the crowd.

“They have,” replied Josephine, standing beside Cullen. “And soon, the world.” 

“Commander, will they follow?” 

Ellana was beginning to suspect this event had been in planning for quite some time, perhaps since the very evening they’d found her in the snow. Cullen turned to the gathered forces with powerful enthusiasm. “Inquisition!” he cried, voice carrying across the courtyard. “Will you follow?” 

A cheer went up to the sky, the people clapping and pumping their fists in the air. 

“Will you fight?”

Another deafening cry of assent. 

“Will we triumph?”

The crowd was growing wild, screaming their unified support. Cullen unsheathed his sword and whirled with an energetic burst, raising the blade toward Ellana.

“Your leader!” he shouted with a rasp. “Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!”

The elven woman looked down at the sword in her hands. It was heavy, the balance unfamiliar, the blade dangerously sharp and gleaming. It scared her. Nevertheless, she took a deep breath, steadied herself, and raised it high above her, and though her arm shook, the people’s cheers reached a new height. Even Josephine was carrying on, uninhibited by her usual decorum. Ellana could only hope she wouldn’t let them down.

 

Krem shook his head in awe, a smile full of wry pride pulling one corner of his mouth up. “Fuck,” he said. That settled it; he’d never be able to woo Ellana now. It was difficult enough with her just being the Herald, but now? Now she was  _ the _ big boss lady. Under her immediate command were the armies, resources, and spies of the whole Inquisition. She was queen of the castle, and Krem couldn’t even be counted as a page, much less a knight. He was a hired hand, there to do the dirty work that couldn’t be done by armies, spies, or influence. Mercs didn’t get the girl. They got a quick death if they were lucky, and until then they whored around in taverns and bars for their entertainment. 

The merc gazed up at the small, elven Inquisition, haloed by the setting sun, whose rays lit her red curls aflame as she hefted the heavy sword above her. She was truly beautiful, a pure force of change and compassion. Krem sighed, leaning against a crumbling wall with slouched shoulders as he watched her. He didn’t stand a chance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the new chapter! If you'd like to yell and/or scream at me, you can find me on tumblr at fatale-distraction.tumblr.com  
> Please comment/message me with any concerns, constructive criticism, or unintelligible screeching you may have! I love hearing from my readers, so please don't hesitate to tell me what you liked, what made you giggle, or even what you didn't like so much! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventures in making Skyhold habitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, sorry!!! It's probably still Friday somewhere...right? D:/  
> I feel like this chapter is super choppy, and I apologize for that. But if I kept fiddling with it until I was satisfied, it would literally never get posted. Chapter 9 is already in the works, and so far is flowing MUCH more nicely! So please look forward to that. <3

Ellana’s new quarters lay in one of the higher towers of Skyhold. Spacious and airy, it had several enormous latticed windows inlaid with intricate stained glass that let in the gentle mountain light from every direction and painted the stone walls and floors with flickering little flecks of color like a prism. A charming balcony overlooked the stables and courtyard, and the floors were already spread with thick, plush rugs to keep the cold at bay. There was a heavy, rosewood desk flanked by towering bookshelves, a creamy silk chaise lounge with a spindly, matching side table, a private privy closet, and an imposing four-poster bed with thick draperies.

Krem watched the newly appointed Inquisitor surveying the massive bedroom she’d been given, the heavy crate of linens and draperies forgotten in his hands. Ellana sat awkwardly on the lounge chair, looking between the expansive bookshelves, the carved wooden dresser with so very many drawers, and the bare mantle above the fireplace with a lost expression on her face as she unpacked the single trunk that held all of her belongings. 

“Your worship,” he said, clearing his throat to announce his presence. She turned and gave him a relieved smile that sparked flames in his stomach. Her wavy curls hung loose around her waist, the front pulled back and out of her face in a long, messy braid. Her clothes, burned and torn and filthy, had been thrown completely away at Vivienne’s insistence, so Josephine had given her a dark navy blue gown with silver stitching, cut low across the front, that pooled on the ground around her feet. The color brought out an entirely different hue in her eyes, darkening them to almost indigo. “Maker you’re lovely…” he breathed before he could stop himself.

Ellana giggled cheeks flushing at the compliment, smoothing a wrinkle in her skirts. “I’ve never worn something so nice…Josephine said it was her work dress. Can you imagine scrubbing pots or fletching arrows in something like this?”

“I doubt Lady Josephine has ever had to scrub a pot,” he laughed, setting the crate down and picking up the sparse stack of books she was unpacking to shelve them. “Not to say she doesn’t do hard work. Just not the pot-scrubbing kind.”

When he turned back to her, Ellana was shaking out a plain white shift embroidered around the bust and hem with the most gorgeous embroidery he’d ever seen. His jaw fairly dropped to the floor at the elaborate curls of ivy and little ribbon rosebuds accompanied by intricate sprigs of lavender made up of countless Orlesian knots. “That’s…incredible.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Half the children in my clan can work a needle like this by the time they’re twelve.”

As she spoke, Krem was already crossing the room again, taking the frock gently in his hands to admire the stitches up close. “My father’d love this… if he still had his shop, he could put this on aprons for the merchant’s wives and charge a whole silver for them.” He glanced up at Ellana, meeting her curious gaze, and realized he was holding her underclothes about a centimeter away from his face. “uM…sorry…” he muttered, dropping the linen immediately.

“Do you like to sew?” she asked with a friendly smile as she folded the shift up and placed it next to her before moving to the next garment. Unpacking her dainties in front of company didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest, while Krem was fighting to keep his eyes on hers instead of on the pretty, lacy things she was folding. “I could give you patterns and teach you some of the more unusual stitches.”

It was incredibly difficult for Krem to hold back a giddy grin. “Really? I’d love that.” A fist of nostalgia gripped him suddenly, and Krem smiled as he was drawn back into his memories. “My dad was a tailor. I’d help him out sometimes when I was a child; simple things that I couldn’t mess up and waste fabric...he taught me to cut patterns to make little dolls and things.” his eyes fell on a well-loved stuffed halla with button eyes nestled in the trunk among her clothing. “I’ll make one for you in return, if you like?”

“I want a nug,” she demanded, flat-faced, dropping the nightdress she had been about to fold.

He grinned again. “My specialty. Thanks, El–Your worship. Really, this is amazing.” Impulsively, he hugged her, both laughing. He knew he shouldn’t be so familiar with her. She was the Inquisitor now, and under far more scrutiny than ever. Still, he couldn’t help but want to be near her. His skin tingled with longing for her touch, even just the slightest brush of their fingers, and his heart pounded whenever she was around. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep himself away, even when the back of his neck burned under the disapproving glances of certain members of the Herald’s inner circle.

“Please, just call me Ellana…” she began, pulling him back down as he released her and made to back away. Her eyes searched his face, a smile lingering on her lips, so close to his. “Krem…?”

“Y-yes…?” he said in a hushed whisper.

“You’re–oh…it’s nothing. Nevermind…”

His heart sank for all of a second before shooting straight up into his throat when she pressed her lips against his cheek, far longer than was really appropriate at all. Krem cleared his throat, grinning ear to ear when she pulled back, certain his face was bright red. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but all that he managed was a raspy, “Your--um...Ellana.” Ellana’s good-natured giggles followed him as he excused himself and headed down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

When Ellana finally found the young man who had helped them at Haven, he was sitting at the base of the staircase leading up into the keep. A sprig of tiny, purple flowers grew at his feet, and he appeared to be tending to them, entirely in his own world while three people argued nearby.

“This thing is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet,” Vivienne was saying, an icy bite in her elegant, cultured voice. “It has no business being here.”

“Wouldn’t you say the same of an apostate?” replied Solas.

The look the Grand Enchantress gave him was a masterpiece of silent reproach. It could have meant anything from ‘don’t be such a daft fool’ to ‘you’re damn right I would, I’d kick you straight over these walls if I could’. Cassandra sighed and turned to the Inquisitor as she approached with an exasperated expression. She clearly wasn’t paid enough to deal with arguments between mages.

“Inquisitor. I wondered if Cole was perhaps a mage, given his...unusual abilities,” she began by way of explanation.

Here, Solas picked up. “He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him. These are not the abilities of a mage. It seems that Cole is a spirit.”

“It is a demon,” said Vivienne with a dry, dismissive stare.

“If you prefer,” the other mage returned evenly. “Although the truth is somewhat more complex.”

To say that Ellana was surprised would have been an understatement. She’d felt him, felt his hands clasping hers. He was solid and real. She would never have imagined him to be a spirit, and certainly refused to believe him a demon. She’d seen demons, both literal and figurative, and this boy was neither. “Cole warned us about Corypheus at Haven,” she said, siding herself with Solas. “He saved a lot of lives.”

“And what will it’s help cost?” countered the enchantress. “How many lives will this demon later claim?”

Ellana held a great amount of respect for Vivienne de Fer. She was a powerful woman who commanded respect and obedience wherever she went; she was ethereal and elegant. She also disapproved of nearly everything the elven woman did. Ellana was beginning to question why the mage even still followed the Inquisition if she was so opposed to her ideologies and methods. She wasn’t blind to the judgemental sweep of those sharp, fog-colored eyes every time she stopped for a bit of casual conversation and flirting with Cremisius, or the way she gallivanted about with Sera. However much she appreciated Vivienne, however much she admired her and aspired to be as collected and elegant, she could not agree with her on this, and many other matters.

Luckily, Solas saved her from openly disagreeing. “In fact, his nature is not so easily defined,” he said.

“Speak plainly, Solas,” the exhausted Seeker interrupted. “What _are_ we dealing with?”

“Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form, they look bizarre, monstrous,” he explained.

“But Cole looks like a young man. Is it possession?”

“No,” replied the elven mage, an excited gleam in his eyes. “He has possessed nothing and no one, and yet he appears human in all respects. Cole is unique, Inquisitor. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.”

“I should really see what Cole has to say for himself…” the Inquisitor insisted, though she was positive Cole would do nothing to harm any one of them. She turned to where she had last seen him, but the boy had disappeared without a trace. “Where is he now?”

“If none of us remember him, he could be anywhere,” said a shocked Cassandra, looking around.

Vivienne had checked out entirely, shaking her head and walking away. While the other two cast their gazes around the courtyard in search of Cole, Ellana turned toward the makeshift surgery behind them. There she found him, wandering between the inert bodies of the wounded, with slow, pensive steps.

“Cole?” asked Ellana, quiet and hesitant.

“Haven. So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape…” the boy murmured, far off as if lost in a memory. “Choking fear, can’t think from the medicine, but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot white pain, everything burns, I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to...I’m dying, I’m…” The onslaught of imagery bleed from his mouth in quick bursts like a slice to the neck. Beneath the wide brim of his hat, his eyes were glassy and unfocused. And as he spoke, a man lying on a pallet nearby ceased his writhing and fell still. “Dead.”

An uncomfortable realization took root in Ellana’s chest. “You’re feeling their pain?” she asked in quiet shock.

“It’s louder this close, with so many of them,” said Cole in dull, resigned response.

“Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable?” Ellana suggested, unsure how to even respond to this. Should she be horrified, frightened? She didn’t feel anything like that; just inexplicable sadness.

“Yes, but here is where I can help…” the boy said, wandering away again, toward another inert body. “Every breath slower. Like lying in a warm bath. Sliding away. Smell of my daughter’s hair when I kiss her goodnight... Gone…” At his words, the man’s eyes drifted shut, and his neck went limp. Just as soon as that soldier had passed, Cole turned to another. “Cracked, brown pain, dry, scraping, thirsty...Here...” He knelt and offered them a long draught from a waterskin that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The woman drank gratefully, and whispered her thanks in a rough, raspy voice.

“It’s alright...she won’t remember me,” Cole murmured as he stood, turning back to the dumbfounded Inquisitor.

“You’re using your powers as a spirit to help people?” She shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he had helped her. Helped all of them.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I used to think I was a ghost. I didn’t know…I made mistakes...but I made friends, too. Then a Templar proved I wasn’t real. I lost my friends. I lost everything. I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different but stronger. I can feel more. I can help.”

The elven woman wasn’t quite sure she entirely understood his story, but she understood his intent. He was here for good, not destruction as Vivienne had been so sure of. “If you’re willing to stay, the Inquisition could certainly use your abilities to help more people.”

“Yes, helping. I help the hurt, the helpless, there’s someone…” Trailing off, Cole turned to yet another wounded man, muttering under his breath as he had done before. “Hurts. It hurts, it hurts, someone make it stop hurting, Maker please…” This time, as he spoke he drew a sharp, straight dagger from his belt. “The healers have done all they can. It will take him hours to die. Every moment will be agony. He wants mercy. Help.”

Terror finally gripped Ellana’s heart with an icy, cold hand. “You say he won’t die for hours yet, but you can’t be certain,” she said shakily, placing herself squarely between Cole and the soldier lying on the ground. Narrating a person’s last moments was one thing. Hastening their demise when there was a chance, however slim, they they would live was entirely another. She would not allow it.

“His body is failing,” the boy protested.

“He could recover, or the healers could find another way to help him.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. And neither do you,” insisted Ellana, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “That’s part of life.”

Cole stared down at the wounded man for a long moment, that unsettling, far off look in his eyes again. “...Try…” he whispered. Another long moment passed before he turned to the Inquisitor, and with firm determination, put the dagger away. “I want to stay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Krem felt like he was being driven up a wall. As much as he tried, he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from the Inquisitor, even when he knew he should. The way she smiled at him, reached for his hand as he passed by just to grab his attention, brought him cold mugs of ale while he was hard at work...She’d lean against a wall while he took a break to slake his thirst, and he knew she was admiring the way his skin glistened copper in the bright mountain light. He knew, because every time he glanced up, she was biting her lip through a smile and eyeing the line of his neck as he tossed back his ale. He’d make some quip or another and she’d laugh and flirt right back.

And all the while, the disapproving stares fell on them. Vivienne would watch them with that cold, unreadable stare. Solas would eye them curiously, and Mother Giselle would silently purse her lips. Nobles would whisper behind their hands, as if anyone cared what they thought. Even so, Krem began trying to avoid her. It was better this way, he thought. Being so fully under the public eye, the Inquisitor simply couldn’t afford to be seen bestowing her affections on a lowly, penniless mercenary from Tevinter, of all places.

Somehow, Ellana didn’t seem to have gotten the memo. She spent as much time as ever begging at his side for stories, following him around while they worked on clearing the considerable amount of rubble out of Skyhold, and making eyes at him across the courtyard. No matter how busy he kept himself, the moment he paused to wipe the sweat off his brow, he’d look down and find her at his side with a bright smile and a joke. Finally, she cornered him one day while he was heading across the battlements with a progress report for Cullen on the tower rooms. His only hope for escape was to jump over the walls, and he wasn’t certain he’d survive the fall.

“Why are you avoiding me?” she demanded with an angry stomp of her foot as she backed him up against the cold stone. Hurt welled up in her eyes despite how very hard she tried to look fierce and furious, and Krem felt a guilty cringe at the sight of her trembling fists and quivering lips.

“I…” He ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. “I-I’m not, I just--”

“Bullshit! Don’t you lie to me, Aclassi. Just tell me. Please…” She took him by the arms and gave him a shake. “Why?” The last syllable was whispered on trembling lips, in stark contrast to her prior frustrated shouting.

“Your worship--”

“Stop,” she put a hand over his mouth. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes and Krem was certain if a single one slipped down her cheek, he would die on the spot. “Please... I just want to be Ellana…To you at least, I just want to be me.” Her voice broke. She let her forehead fall against the cold metal of his breastplate with a quiet, choked sob. Krem’s breath caught painfully in his chest as she began to cry in earnest.

“No no no no…” he babbled softly, stroking her back and her hair and holding her as close as his armor would permit. “No, sweetheart, don’t cry...I’m sorry...Ellana, please don’t cry…” He whispered the words against her ear before he even knew what he was saying, just so desperate to put a stop to her tears.

“I didn’t ask for any of this…” she hiccuped against his chest and the words poured out in a torrent. “I never wanted to be the Herald or the Inquisitor, but I saw a chance to make things better and I took it, and it’s all just happened so fast, and now you don’t want to be friends anymore, and I _can’t,_ Krem! I can bear anything else, but not that…I can’t bear the thought of handling all of this without you.”

The young man hushed at her, pressing her to him with a fierce grip. “Sshhh...It’s okay. I’m here for you now…” he murmured, weaving his hands through her hair, barely holding himself in check. Maker, how he longed to kiss her, to confess everything he’d been thinking since the day he met her. “We’re still friends…” he promised instead. “I just...I didn’t know if it was appropriate--”

“To hell with propriety!” said Ellana with heat blazing in her tearful violet eyes. “I’m not about to let anyone tell me I can’t spend time with someone I--”

His lips were on hers before he could think, before he could stop himself. A surprised hum that sparked through every nerve in his body vibrated in Ellana’s throat. He pressed her close, molding their bodies together as best he could while he kissed her so fiercely he thought he might come apart at the seams. To hell with propriety. To hell with the judgmental stares and the whispering gossips. To hell with everything that wasn't her soft lips against his or the smell of her hair as his fingers knotted into it as he rained kiss after tender, longing kiss upon her eager lips. Ellana clung to him with fingers that trembled, as though frightened of what might happen if she let go. When their lips finally parted with a moist, reluctant pop, they were both gasping for air, faces flushed bright red as they gazed at each other with misty-eyed shock.

“You called me sweetheart…” murmured an awestruck, breathless Ellana through lips rosy and swollen from his kisses.

Krem’s eyes darted evasively, the color deepening in his cheeks. “Um...no, no I didn’t…”

“You did; I heard you,” she giggled, smoothing a soft hand down his cheek. He sighed and leaned into the touch, letting his eyes drift shut. His hand covered hers and squeezed as he turned to press a kiss to her palm. Pressing their joined hands to his flushed skin, Krem swore to himself that he would never leave her in doubt of his affections again.

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken over a week to work Skyhold into a functioning Keep, and once everyone had been properly settled, the Inquisitor’s first order was to send the Chargers back down to Haven to salvage whatever they could and direct any stragglers to Skyhold, and then east to check on the remaining templars, both at Krem’s recommendation. Therinfall Redoubt had fallen completely silent since Redcliffe, which would have been concerning enough without the lyrium infected templars that had been swarming over Haven like ants. Someone needed to go and find out why no word had come from the Redoubt, and Leliana was determined to send the Inquisitor herself off to the Exalted Plains, which was entirely the opposite direction.  

Ellana met them at the gates as they were preparing to leave. She waited for Krem to finish loading his horse, shifting from foot to foot in the shadows beneath the portcullis. He could see the odd gleam of her eyes in the dark out of the corner of his eye, a gleam that might have frightened a man who didn’t sleep in a tent with two elves on a regular basis. Once his saddle had been tightened and cinched properly, Krem slipped away from his contingent with a carefully casual stroll toward the Inquisitor to say his goodbyes.

“Are you certain we can’t switch destinations?” Ellana said with a rueful smile as he approached.

Krem laughed at her irate tone. “I’m afraid not, your worship. Lady Nightingale was quite clear.”

“I hate Dirthavaren…” she mumbled, scuffing the toe of her boot against the cobbles. “I wish someone else could take care of things there.”

Her eyes were downcast and pensive, hands wringing in front of her. Krem reached out a hesitant hand to brush her cheek, but pulled back before she could notice. They hadn’t really...discussed the kiss on the battlement wall, just like they hadn’t really discussed any of the other kisses. It made things uncertain, and awkward. “Is there anything I can do to help before we take off?” he asked instead, clearing his throat.

Ellana thought for a moment, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Would you write me? Maybe a few letters from a friend would help take my mind off of things?”

“Of course,” Krem said with a grin.

“And…” Casting a furtive glance around her, Ellana pulled him deeper into the shadows. She rose onto the tips of her toes and pressed a long, shy kiss to his lips, gazing into his eyes with deliberation as she retreated.

“Your--Ellana…” he murmured in a heavy voice, unable to tear his eyes from hers. This close, he could hear and feel her breath, warm on his skin. He tasted her on his lips, and the fragrant scent of lilac tickled at his nose.

“Please come back to me safely,” said Ellana, eyes full as she looked up at him.

“I will,” promised Krem. He brushed his lips over her knuckles in a tender kiss that sent butterflies flitting through her stomach. “I promise.”

 

 

“Who will you be taking with you into the field?” Josephine later asked with professional efficiency, her pen constantly moving across the pages spread on her desk.

“Solas, Cole, and Cassandra, I think…” Ellana said, a thoughtful look furrowing her brow as she sat across from her ambassador. “Bull has decided to accompany his men to the Redoubt, and I gave him leave to.”

“Very well, I will let them know. Scout Harding has already left with her party to prepare the forward camp. If you leave tomorrow morning, that should give her enough time to make things ready for your arrival in the Exalted Plains.”

The Inquisitor leaned back with a resigned sigh. Josephine glanced up from her paperwork and gave her a gentle smile, reaching across the desk to squeeze her hand.

“I...wanted to speak with you about another matter, your worship, if you don’t mind?” the dark haired woman said. At a nod from Ellana, she continued. “Well...one can’t help but notice a proclivity towards a certain mercenary…?”

The elven woman felt heat rising in her cheeks. “I suppose I haven’t exactly been subtle about it…” she coughed.

Josephine laughed at the offended pout that pursed Ellana’s lips. “The only reason I ask…” the woman leaned forward and folded her hands over her paperwork. “As Inquisitor, you will garner a certain amount of attention. In fact, we’ve already received a handful of requests…”

A very bad feeling suddenly sunk into Ellana’s stomach like a rock. “Requests? Requests for what…?”

“For your hand in marriage.”

“No.”

“I understand--” the ambassador began, raising a placating hand.

“No.”

“Inquisitor--”

“No.”

“No one is going to force you to marry anyone you do not wish to,” burst Josephine in exasperation. “That is not the point I am trying to make. My only concern is for your reputation and your happiness.”

“Reputation…?” Ellana raised a speculative eyebrow, not quite trusting the unexpected direction the conversation had taken.

“It is important, in the event that you and Cremisius enter into a romantic relationship, that we spin the news to our advantage before anyone else can use it against us,” Josephine explained. The Inquisitor stared at her with a rather blank expression. “Your enemies could use his background and his...less than savory profession to make both of you look bad...to brand you -- forgive me, your worship -- as a...a woman of loose morals...While we may know that is not true, people will devour any bit of gossip fed to them.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” asked Ellana, trying not to let herself be offended by the theoretical slander. She’d been called far worse than a whore in her time, and she had no doubt she would hear worse things in the future. “That I rein it in? Because, again, no. I don’t do things halfway, and certainly not...well. Feelings.”

“Not at all,” Josephine insisted with a gentle smile. “Rather that we give them something more appealing to talk about, should it become necessary. The Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, favoring a common mercenary could be quite the romantic tale, don’t you think?”

“I suppose…You’re not suggesting--you ARE! Josephine!!”

The Antivan merely smiled again. “A well-woven story can be quite persuasive… particularly one of romance and adventure. Particularly when penned by an already influential hand. Don’t worry yourself, Inquisitor,” she went on, lifting a hand to silence Ellana’s protests. “I will take care of everything.”

“But--!!”

“Now, I must get back to work, and you must prepare for your journey. Good day, Inquisitor.”

 

 

After being unceremoniously dismissed from Josephine’s office, the Inquisitor made her way up to the battlements to find Varric. He had mentioned a potential ally he wanted to introduce her to, privately. Ellana had a feeling she might know who it was; she’d read his books after all. Still, when the woman herself came strolling down the stairs, the elf couldn’t help but gape.

“Inquisitor, meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Though, I don’t use that title much anymore…” The woman Varric introduced as _the_ Champion was tall and slim, her dark hair shaved on one side and fell in gentle waves over her shoulder on the other. A stripe of red paint across the bridge of her nose was like a signature, declaring to the world who she was. Her voice was far softer than Ellana had imagined, and very, very tired. Coming down the stairs behind her was an elf with darky, tawny skin and shockingly white hair. White tattoos lined his face and what little could be seen of his neck. The rest of him was well-concealed beneath heavy leathers and armor, but it was clear the marks continued down his neck, and likely covered the rest of his body.

“Oh, and this here is Broody.”

“Fenris,” the man snarled at Varric’s dismissive  introduction.

“You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison,” Hawke said, leaning on the balustrade and staring down into the courtyard with a pensive expression. Her companion leaned against the opposite wall, away from the discussion, with his arms folded in front of him, intent green eyes locked on Hawke’s figure. He was silent throughout their discussion, standing rigid and aware as though expecting trouble from any direction. Hawke was definitely a woman whose footsteps seemed to be trailed by trouble.

Still, as they spoke, Ellana couldn’t help but notice a softness in his otherwise harsh expression as Fenris eyed the taller woman. It brought a smile to her lips that had him shooting an embarrassed glare her way, his nose wrinkling a bit. Hawke shared an amused glance with the Inquisitor and they both giggled like schoolgirls. Fenris scoffed and rolled his eyes, but couldn’t conceal the light dusting of red that graced his dark cheeks.

Ellana found herself wondering, with a stab of longing, if that was how Krem looked at her when her back was turned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Hawke and Fenris will feature more prominently in future chapters! Honestly, there's no way in hell Fenris would let Hawke go alone.  
> Hope you liked the new chapter! If you'd like to yell and/or scream at me, you can find me on tumblr at fatale-distraction.tumblr.com  
> Please comment/message me with any concerns, constructive criticism, or unintelligible screeching you may have! I love hearing from my readers, so please don't hesitate to tell me what you liked, what made you giggle, or even what you didn't like so much! <3


End file.
